For you, the war is over
by Hildegaarde
Summary: The phrase was heard countless times by Allied P.O.W.s. Colonel Klink has said it himself more than once. What happens when someone says it to him?
1. Restless

When a carload of Hogan's Heroes fans go on a long (rather boring) trip, the conversation inevitably turns to a final episode. Everyone has a different answer to the questions "If the producers of the show had made a finale to end the series, what would have happened? How would the war end for the men of Stalag 13?" Here's my answer to those questions.

* * *

**_Germany, early 1945_**

The sounds of battle were growing closer every day. As the air of excitement among the Stalag 13 prisoners grew at the prospect of liberation, the guards became more apprehensive about their possible fate.

Roll calls were a mere formality, and the words "all present and accounted for" were given no matter whether three extra men were present or two men missing. Discipline was erratic, depending entirely on the moods of the kommandant and his underlings.

Among the atmosphere of suppressed anticipation, Colonel Hogan found that his most difficult task was not to sabotage the enemy, nor to keep his own men calm, but to keep Colonel Wilhelm Klink from panicking completely.

Through the intermittent radio broadcasts from London, the men of Stalag 13 had been informed of a forced march of prisoners from another prison camp into the north of Germany. Hogan had no doubt that a similar fate would be theirs if Klink's superiors in Berlin were reminded of the existence of Stalag 13, and it took all his ingenuity to keep Klink restrained.

"Hogan, I have heard rumors," Klink began one morning, his face twisted into the grimace that passed for a pleading smile.

Hogan sat down in the chair opposite Klink's desk and adjusted his cap. "So have I. You know, Cpl. Nelson told Sgt. Carter that Cpl. Andrews said that Rita Hayworth had been in a film about a soldier—"

"I'm not interested in that rumor!" Klink snapped.

Hogan shrugged. "That's probably because you've never seen Rita Hayworth. Now, Cpl. Nelson has, and he thinks—"

"Never mind about Rita Hayworth! The rumor I am referring to is about Sergeant Schultz." Klink leaned back in his chair and tried to look casual.

Hogan wagged his head knowingly. "Oh, you heard about that? As a matter of fact, Kommandant, I think it's pretty dreadful myself."

"Dreadful? It was you who gave it to him!"

"I wouldn't dream of having German measles! I'm an American, and I get American diseases!" Hogan declared with a sniff. "German measles indeed!"

Klink slammed his hand down on his desk and then winced. "Schultz doesn't have the measles! What he has is a letter from the prisoners stating that he has been a 'humane and considerate guard'."

"Oh that. What is it you want to know about the letter, sir?"

The kommandant's evident anger vanished, and he gave Hogan a pleading look. "I thought perhaps that I might—since I've been such an understanding kommandant during my time at Stalag 13—"

"You want a letter too?" Hogan interrupted. "I do think that's wise of you, sir. After all, with the Allies practically at the gates of Stalag 13, you can never—"

His words were cut off as the door opened and Hilda poked her head in. "Excuse me, Colonel Hogan, one of your men is asking for you. Sergeant Kinchloe."

Hogan was on his feet before she finished. Klink was always there to bait another day, and it had to be something pretty important for Kinch to interrupt a meeting.

The radio specialist had a worried look on his face when Hogan joined him on the front steps. "Colonel, Deznik and Beale just made a broad daylight attempt to climb the wire. Schultz caught them, and LeBeau convinced him to let them go, but we sent them to your office."

"Oh boy." Hogan jerked his cap brim in frustration. "Just because they hear the fighting they think it'll be perfectly safe to go strolling through the woods and join up with the Allies. Don't they realize there's a German army out there too?"

Kinch shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I guess they need something else to think about."

"I'll give them something else to think about!" Hogan swung the barracks door open so hard it cracked against the bunk behind it and bounced back closed again. "They've got KP for the duration!"

* * *

LeBeau waited until the colonel had finished with the two would-be escapers and then took a mug of coffee into the cramped office. "Colonel?"

"Hmm? Oh, thanks, LeBeau." Hogan lifted his head from its propped position in his hand and gratefully accepted the steaming drink.

"You're not going to like this," the Frenchman warned. "I've heard some of the other prisoners talking about how they could find the Allied forces if they were allowed to escape."

Hogan groaned. "Haven't we got enough trouble? I know they're restless because we haven't had any supplies dropped since the fighting got too close for the planes to fly, but surely they could just sit tight for a few weeks longer."

"It gets worse. Some of the guards have deserted to join up with the German army, because they think they'll get better treatment from the Allies if they're caught after a battle instead of caught guarding a prison camp." LeBeau refilled the colonel's cup without being asked.

"They're just going out to surrender?" Hogan asked incredulously. "Why not surrender . . . hey, maybe that's it. LeBeau, get the guys in here. Tell Kinch to turn the radio over to Baker—I need him."

LeBeau shrugged. "Baker did a fine job while Kinch was in the hospital with pneumonia, but now that he has that radio back Kinch treats it like it's a baby."

"Never mind the radio. I want him in here on the double," Hogan ordered.

When the men were assembled in his office, he took a deep breath and began. "How would you guys like to finish the war by running a prison camp?"


	2. Laying A Foundation

Stunned silence filled the office for several moments.

Carter was the first to break it. "Well, you've said yourself, sir, that we're running this camp. I mean, you can talk Colonel Klink into just about anything, and there's always ways to get the guards to do stuff or bring stuff in—oh! You mean that somehow we're gonna end the war while we're still here? I'm all in favor of that, after all, we've been locked up here for a pretty long time. I agree, Colonel Hogan. Let's end the war."

"Carter," Newkirk said with a roll of his eyes. "The colonel doesn't mean that we're gonna end the war."

"Well, that's what he said," Carter defended. "You were right here. He said—"

"What's 'appened is that the colonel's gone round the bend," Newkirk nodded knowingly. "It's the thought of freedom that's done it to 'im."

"Colonel Hogan is as sane as I am," Carter stuck up for his commanding officer.

Hogan shook his head and broke up the exchange. "Oh boy, I am in trouble."

"It does sound kind of ambitious," Kinch had caught on immediately. "Think you can talk Klink into handing over control of the camp?"

"Yes, and what about our tunnels?" LeBeau asked. "What if we blow them all up and then the surrender doesn't happen?"

"We don't blow anything up until we're sure Klink will surrender," Hogan pulled down the map showing their underground system. "I figure we can destroy the entrances in the barracks, where the current camp guards would be housed, and leave the opening in Klink's quarters. That would still give us some tunnel access even after we make the switch. Once the Allies actually arrive, we'd have to destroy the whole lot anyway."

Light dawned on Carter's face. "Boy, you mean we get to guard someone else for a change?"

"We'd better start by guardin' you," Newkirk mumbled under his breath before looking up at Hogan. "When do we start, Colonel?"

Hogan let the map roll up. "As soon as I go to work on Klink."

* * *

Hogan wore a slight frown as he climbed the steps to Klink's office. His plan would take a couple of days to put into effect, and all the prisoners were anxious for some action. The last thing he needed was some fool coming up with a solo escape scheme and messing everything up.

As he pushed the door open he saw Hilda standing beside the window, staring across the yard. She turned when he entered, but her usual smile was missing.

"It won't be long now, honey." He gave her a quick, comforting hug. "Not scared, are you?"

Hilda sighed. "I'm not afraid of the Allies. I'm just worried about what will happen before they arrive."

"You've still got that letter I wrote for you, just in case—" Hogan shook his head. "Keep it hidden, won't you?"

"It's in a secret pocket in my purse. No one will find it," Hilda assured him. "I keep it with me at all times now."

"Good girl. Enjoy that. It's my last one." Hogan slipped a chocolate bar into her hand and strolled into Klink's office with his characteristic display of unconcern.

When the door closed behind him Hilda reached into her purse and removed a carefully folded piece of paper. She read it over as she had done hundreds of times since he gave it to her along with a warning to keep it a secret.

"_The bearer of this letter, Miss Hilda Kohncke, has faithfully assisted Allied agents and prisoners of war at the risk of her own safety. Any person connected with Allied forces who accosts her or causes her any distress will be subject to court martial and/or disciplinary action._"

It was signed _Col. Robert E. Hogan_, and the list of departments and authorities written under his signature was nearly as long as the letter itself. Hilda didn't know what most of the names represented, but she understood the general meaning of the list. Colonel Hogan was connected with some very influential people.

He was also keeping some very dangerous secrets. Secrets that could mean life or death for more than just him and his men. She didn't know how he could know so much about so many things and keep his outward calm, when it took all her nerve just to play her own role. It was a role she looked forward to abandoning, an identity she wished she could erase.

At the thought of what she had revealed to him and the reminder of what could happen, she hastily tucked the paper back in its hiding place and put the chocolate in her purse.

It was the last chocolate in camp. Hilda shook her head as she remembered the way Schultz had complained to her that the prisoners no longer had treats to bribe him with. He still thought it was easier for him to see nothing and let the prisoners do whatever they wanted, but capitulation went down easier with a little sugar.

* * *

Colonel Klink was rummaging through a stack of papers on his desk when Hogan dropped into the chair across from him. "Go away, Hogan. I'm in no mood to put up with your insults today," he said without looking up.

"What insults?" Hogan eyed the cigar box regretfully. There was no fun in raiding an empty humidor. "I just wanted to say how much I've enjoyed my time here at your little resort. I just hope the Allied camp where you wind up is half as luxurious as this one."

"Ho-gan," Klink whined.

"I'm just being realistic. Of course, that's assuming you survive the battle." Hogan waved an airy hand.

The kommandant clutched involuntarily at his throat. "Battle? What battle?"

"The battle at the gates, of course. American tanks come rolling up, see all you uniformed Krauts—pardon me, Germans—patrolling, and you'll defend your position even at the cost of your own life." The fact that Allied forces would never dream of firing on a prison camp he kept to himself.

"Of course I will defend my position," Klink declared. "Even at the cost of . . . Hogan, do you really think it'll come to that?"

"I don't see why not." Hogan rose, satisfied with the foundation he'd laid. "A good German soldier never deserts his post, and you're one of the best." With a lazy salute he left Klink to think about his words.

Sergeant Hans Schultz fell into step beside him as he returned to the barracks. "_Bitte_, Colonel Hogan . . . do you think that there is any chance the prisoners will invite me to dinner?"

"Why Schultz, you're losing weight! It's good for you, you know. Make you feel ten years younger!" Hogan gave him a jaunty pat on the shoulder. At the guard's pleading look, he relented. "I think we might find a few leftovers for you, if you promise not to eat the silverware."

"It will take grr-rrreat self-restraint," Schultz informed him with dignity.

With only a few mumbled remarks about waistlines, LeBeau dished up a bowl of stew and added a slice of brown bread for the sergeant, who wolfed it down eagerly.

"You know, Schultzie, you'd be better off in an English prison camp than slavin' away here," Newkirk told him.

Schultz looked over both shoulders before replying. "I know. I wish that the Allies would get here a little faster. I am very hungry."

"Why don't you defect?" LeBeau asked.

The guard heaved another sigh. "There is no one to defect to. The Allies are not yet here. So I wait . . . and starve."

"Think the Big Shot feels the same way?" Hogan casually dropped the question along with another slice of bread on the empty plate.

"Who knows? There is not so much of him to keep up." Schultz patted his belly. "I think he is hoping that he will wake up one morning and the war will all be over. Please pass the salt."


	3. The Suggestion

_Although it started out as a short finale, this has grown from an episode into an epic. It would need two episodes...or maybe three...to cover all the things that Hogan and co. got up to while waiting for the Allied armies to arrive!_

* * *

That evening Hogan slipped out under cover of darkness and made the rounds of the barracks. He made the same speech to each group of men. "I'm trying to talk Kommandant Klink into surrendering to me. If everything works out, we'll have a peaceful takeover of the camp and sit and wait for the Allies to arrive."

He quelled the rising tide of questions with an upraised hand. "What I need to know from every man here is, can you handle the job of guarding German prisoners and running the camp without deserting or taking revenge? You've got tonight to think about it."

Privately he informed each barracks chief that anyone they thought likely to cause trouble could be shipped out in an escape during the takeover of the camp. It wasn't likely that a discrepancy between the number of Allied prisoners and Allied guards would be noticed. Several names were put forward by the barracks chiefs as being likely to cause problems, but the majority of the occupants of the camp agreed to follow Hogan's orders without question.

* * *

Directly after roll call the next morning, Hogan made his attack.

Following Klink into his office, he dropped his cap on top of the helmet on the desk and dropped into a chair. Klink was so preoccupied with examining himself in the mirror that he didn't even notice the cap. "Colonel Klink, I've been thinking."

"Did you have to? Whenever you start thinking, I get in trouble. I don't know how you do it—" Klink abandoned his reflection and flapped his hand. "I don't want to know how you do it, but I wish you wouldn't."

"I'm trying to help you," Hogan protested. "You want to survive the battle when the Allies arrive, don't you?"

He pointed to the desk chair and hid his smirk as Klink sat obediently. "How, Hogan, how could I survive the battle?"

"If you weren't in command, and your guards weren't on duty, you'd have nothing to worry about," Hogan said deliberately.

The kommandant looked horrified. "Are you suggesting that I transfer out of here before the Allies arrive? Run like a coward?"

"Why not?" Hogan retorted. "Transfer yourself to the Russian Front. At least you're guaranteed a very quick death. Actually that's not what I was thinking."

"What then?" Klink sounded exactly like a three-year-old trying to refuse an afternoon nap.

"Well, there's Allies right here, even one of equal rank. You surrender, the Allies take control of the camp, and your worries are over."

Col Klink screwed his nose up, nearly losing his monocle in the process, and spent thirty seconds in thoughtful silence. "Ohhh! You mean that I should surrender to you and your men, before the fighting army gets here!"

"Marvelous, the way you grasp these things, sir!" Hogan said with mock admiration.

"But the prisoners . . . they would take revenge on me for their captivity." There was a whimper in his voice.

"On our beloved Bald Eagle?" Hogan pretended outrage. "You've been such a fair and caring kommandant, sir, what do you have to be concerned about?"

Klink nodded slowly. "Maybe . . . Hogan, you know that only the most desperate of circumstances would reduce me to such a position."

Hogan put on a sympathetic expression. "I know that, sir. How different the war might have been had you been given a tactical command position."

"How different, indeed." Klink dwelt with obvious pleasure on a mental image of himself in red-striped pants.

Hogan got tired of waiting for Klink to stop admiring himself and interrupted the reverie. "Shall we have the formal surrender and changeover tomorrow morning then?"

"Yes, yes." Klink looked at his desk. "I suppose my files will need sorting . . ."

"Don't worry about it, sir. We'll take care of it all. Perhaps you should address your men and make sure they won't try and escape from here after the surrender," Hogan warned. "Anyone who stays here will be safe, but if they decide to leave it's their neck."

"You guarantee that my men will be treated according to the Geneva Convention and receive humane treatment from the Allies?" Klink asked. He could be quite concerned for the welfare of others when it didn't interfere with his own comfort and safety.

"I guarantee that we'll be as good to you as you've been to us," Hogan affirmed.

Klink pondered the situation for several more moments. "I'll go talk to my men," he said finally. He stood, paused for a moment, and then extended his right hand.

Fully aware of what a concession the egomaniac was making, Hogan restrained his tongue and gravely shook hands. To his surprise, instead of the limp fish he expected, his hand was grasped firmly, pumped twice and then released.(1) Without waiting to be dismissed he left the office.

The first place he went was down to the radio room to talk to Kinch. "It's all set. We take over tomorrow morning, providing Klink has the guts to go through with it."

"When do you want us to close up the tunnels?" Kinch asked without looking up from the part he was examining.

"Not until tomorrow morning. In case the mission goes south I don't want to limit our access. We'll keep the entrances open to the kommandant's quarters so that we can still use the tunnels if we desperately need them."

"You're really planning to keep Klink and his goons in these barracks?" the radio man asked doubtfully.

"Why not? They have to surrender to someone, and it may as well be us," Hogan said flippantly. "After all, we've been here a long time, and we know how to run a prison camp. Tell the guys to have personal belongings packed in preparation for the move."

Kinch shrugged. "Will do."

Hogan zipped his jacket all the way up and began to pace the tunnel room, his mind running a hundred different ways. "Kinch, have Baker take over the radio without you from now on. Besides the fact that it's not good for you to be down here in the damp all the time, you're going to be in charge of the arsenal. Make sure our own weapons are distributed properly and don't let anyone get near them that can't be trusted in case the surrender doesn't work out. And I want you as my official second in command when we take over."

Kinch nodded soberly, not wanting to show how moved he was at the confidence Hogan had in him, but he raised one objection. "Colonel Hogan, Carter outranks me. Shouldn't he—"

"You're it," Hogan cut him off. "I want you with me, Kinch."

"Yes sir." Kinch's teeth showed white in his face as he grinned.

There was a movement out in the tunnel, and both men looked up to see Carter standing there with a stricken look on his face.

* * *

_(1) When my parents went to Germany, they learned that a firm handshake is a matter of social importance. It shows politeness and respect for the person you're talking with. Klink has many failings, but for the most part his general etiquette is up to standard._


	4. Preparation

Kinch stood and tactfully excused himself, but a message coming in on the radio caught his attention. Hogan motioned for Carter to follow him down the tunnel to the lab.

"I'm sorry, Colonel, I didn't mean to eavesdrop," Carter blurted. "I know I've been a lot of trouble to you over the years, and I foul things up all the time—"

"What's all this about?" Hogan inquired. "Are you trying to tell me something you don't think I'll want to hear?"

The young sergeant looked at him with puppy-dog eyes. "I'm sorry, Colonel. I accidentally wrecked the darkroom equipment, and now we're not sabotaging anything I reckon I'm not really needed anymore. I know I'm in the way a lot, and I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you want Kinch with you, I mean, he's a good guy—"

"Carter." Hogan put a firm hand on the young man's shoulder. "You've been an invaluable part of this outfit since you arrived. Without you we never could have accomplished as much sabotage as we did, and I know all of us are glad to have served with you—bombs or no bombs."

The gloom on Carter's face lifted a fraction, but he heaved a sigh.

"Our sabotage days are over, sure, but now we have a different kind of mission that definitely involves you," Hogan continued. "You're probably the only prisoner here that everyone gets along with. Even the guards trust you."

"Aw shucks, Colonel, that's just because I've got a goofy face."

Hogan sternly repressed his grin and continued. "Tensions are running pretty high right now, and I need you to help keep the peace, not only among our guys but also among the Germans. Are you with me?"

"You can count on me, boy—I mean, sir!" Carter brightened with the realization that he was still a valued member of the team.

"Don't worry about the darkroom, okay? And you better make sure all those charges are ready to close up the barracks entrances," Hogan suggested.

"Yes sir." Carter hustled along the tunnel as Kinch came in with a slip of paper in his hand.

"Word from London?" Hogan inquired.

"Yeah. They said they'll be aware that a surrender might go forward, but they won't be sending or receiving messages for a while because of something in the area that they didn't want to talk about. Any guys we're sending out should go to these coordinates and they'll meet up with our army." Kinch handed him the message. "According to the best information London has, the Germans are pulling out of this area."

"They better be pulling out," Hogan read the message and stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "We don't have enough Kraut uniforms to disguise everyone that's going."

"Or enough supplies to make more," Kinch agreed. "London wasn't happy to hear how many guys are going out at once."

"Well, for the first time we're sending out our own escapees instead of another camp's. I figure we're entitled to a few after all the other guys we've sent out. Tell them . . . tell them we're doing it to save the army work when it gets here."

Kinch smirked. "I don't think they'd believe that. Did you square things with Carter."

Hogan sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Yep. Now I just have to break the news to Newkirk that he's in charge of locks and keys."

"That's kind of like putting the fox to guard the henhouse, isn't it? Newkirk doesn't need keys to get anywhere."

"He'll be fine," Hogan shrugged. "LeBeau's gonna pull double duty—I can't imagine him letting anyone else take charge of the mess hall, and he's the one who handles the dogs. That reminds me—get in touch with Schnitzer and let him know what's happening."

"All by tomorrow morning? We better get busy." Kinch headed back to his radio.

* * *

He would never admit it to anyone, but he was secretly relieved. For a long time he had known that things would turn out this way, and he was glad to have it over with. All he had to do was go through a surrender ceremony tomorrow morning, and his burdens would fall onto Hogan's shoulders.

Colonel Klink drew himself up and looked over the ranks of his men. The once-orderly soldiers were ragged and thin, aged and weary, watching him with a resigned sullenness.

"It is with great sadness that I address you this morning, but as Kommandant of Stalag 13 I feel it is my duty to be responsible for this camp and for the men serving under my command . . ." He spent several minutes reminding them of the no-escape record, unmatched by any other camp, and recounting some of the honors that had been paid to him by highly-ranked officials.

"But now we must face the fact that the longer we resist the Allied forces, the harder it goes with us. Now I realize—" he adjusted his monocle as the men fidgeted. "I realize that you will consider me a failure as a commander, but I can only hope that you will forgive me in time. I have decided—"

"Are you going to surrender to Colonel Hogan?" Schultz interrupted.

Klink glared at the sergeant as a murmur ran through the gathering. "Schultz!"

"Sorry, Herr Kommandant," Schultz subsided.

"It is true," Klink confirmed. "I will surrender control of Stalag 13 to Colonel Hogan tomorrow morning at roll call. Anyone who wants to can leave camp and join the last remnants of Germany's fighting forces. Anyone who stays will be treated according to the Geneva Convention, and I have Colonel Hogan's word that there will be no mistreatment by the Allies."

"Herr Kommandant," Schultz raised his hand like a schoolboy. "Will the little Cockroach be in charge of the mess hall?"

Klink stamped his foot. "Schultz!"

* * *

Hilda tied her scarf over her thick blonde hair and shrugged into the worn coat that was seeing yet another season, checking the clock for the fifth time that afternoon. She didn't want to be out after dark, but she knew that Kommandant Klink would be expecting her to let him know before she left, and he was still addressing his men.

She wandered back over to her desk and had just decided to sit back down when the door opened and the drooping figure of Col Klink wandered in without looking at her.

"Oh there you are, Colonel." She pulled the coat tighter. "I was—"

He stopped in the doorway to his office. "Fraulein Hilda, there is change coming to Stalag 13. As of tomorrow morning, Colonel Hogan will take over command."

"You're going to surrender?" she asked incredulously.

"I have no choice." Klink threw up his hands and let them fall. "Germany will need strong men like me to rebuild when the war ends. I owe it to my country not to fall victim to a Russian bullet, and the longer I remain as kommandant here, the more likely that fate becomes."

Unable to deny the second half of the conclusion he had reached but not wanting to agree with the first, Hilda merely murmured something unintelligible.

"Hogan will need access to our files and records," Klink continued. "That is, I don't know how surrenders usually work—I have never been in the position before—but I assume that he will want to know certain details about the running of the camp."

"I will be ready to assist wherever I'm needed," Hilda agreed.

"Thank you," he sighed, shaking his head with a melancholy gesture that nearly dislodged his monocle. "I'll be in my quarters if anyone needs me."

"_Gute nacht, Herr Kommandant_."

She watched the door close behind him. She wasn't sure what kind of scheme Hogan was concocting, but she was confident that the idea of a surrender had been his and not Klink's.

"How's the prettiest secretary in Stalag 13?"

The lighthearted question came from right behind her, and she spun around. "I didn't hear you come in."

Hogan grinned. "You were late leaving, so I thought I'd come and see if everything's okay."

"_Danke_." Hilda rubbed her sore eyes. "Kommandant Klink told me about the surrender. He's asked me to help you find anything you need."

He sobered immediately, his hands moving to rest on her shoulders as he looked her in the face to make his point. "That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm arranging for one final escape tonight and sending out a whole group. I want you to go with them to England."

"I can't. You know that I won't leave, not until I know what's happened to my family." She said the words out of habit, but the hope that had once burned had faded into resignation.

"I don't know what's going to happen with this surrender and takeover deal, and if anything goes wrong I don't want you caught in the middle of it," he pleaded. "Those papers of yours won't hold up to a close scrutiny. It's a miracle that no one's suspected anything and checked them out before now."

Hilda dredged up a smile for him. "I'll be fine, okay? I need to leave now or I won't be home before dark." She tilted her face up for a brief kiss and vanished out the door.

Hogan yanked his cap off and raked his fingers through his hair with a frustrated gesture.


	5. Surrender

After the last evening roll call, Hogan gathered the men who were being sent out to join up with the Allied army and took them down into the tunnels to be outfitted.

While the escapers were being provided with the last of their stashed clothing, multiple sets of papers, and rations, Hogan made a point of going to each man and acknowledging his contribution to the Stalag 13 setup. He had no idea if he would ever see any of them again, and he wanted to make sure they knew how much he appreciated what they had done with him.

"Ready to move out, Colonel." Newkirk handed the last hat to Beale and gave him a push toward the ladder. "It's sure gonna seem empty around the camp tonight. Go on with you, Beale."

The wiry corporal paused for a moment and then turned back to the colonel. "Sir, I'm sorry about that escape attempt yesterday. I know I never would have made it without any kit. It's just that I haven't seen my little girl since she was a week old, and yesterday was her third birthday."

"It's okay, Beale," Hogan sighed. "You're not being sent out because you're in trouble. I'm sending you guys out early because I can't guarantee that we won't be here a while longer and I know it's hard on you. We have to reduce numbers anyway—there's not enough space in the guard's barracks."

"It's hard on the ones that stay too," Beale acknowledged soberly. "I overheard a couple guys talking earlier. They said some of these fellows are being sent out because they hate the Germans and wouldn't be able to guard them. That ain't me, Colonel. I just want to see my family again."

Hogan nodded understandingly. "I know that, Corporal. You just make it safely home and give my regards to your little girl."

"Thanks, Colonel!" It was the biggest smile he had ever seen on the corporal's face.

"Newkirk, move them out," Hogan ordered.

As the last of the escapers disappeared up the ladder, Hogan turned away. "You got those charges ready, Carter?"

"All set to go," the explosives expert confirmed. "Boy, it sure seems funny seeing the old lags leaving in a bunch like that. Foster was one of the first guys here."

"So was I," LeBeau piped up, chin jutting defiantly. "But I'm going to be one of the last men here. I will stand at the gates as the American tanks come rolling in, and I will say to them, "What took you so long?""

"Life in the tank corps isn't exactly a picnic either," Hogan said mildly. "Oops—another thing to do. Someone better fasten down all our openings in the fence. We don't want those discovered by accident."

LeBeau shook his head. "So many things to think of. Colonel Hogan, if you are ever in another war, can you not make it so complicated?"

"It's a deal." Hogan grinned. "Only simple wars from now on."

* * *

No one got much sleep that night. Besides the anticipation of the surrender, anyone who tried to doze off was constantly shaken by the explosions of the charges that Carter had set.

Newkirk sat at the barracks table, a deck of cards spread out in front of him, counting the charges as they went off.

"Is that the last of them?" Hogan emerged from his office with a pile of papers in his hand. He stuffed them in the stove and poured another cup of what passed for coffee.

"Two more to go," Newkirk replied without looking up from the cards. "We've closed up the tunnels, fastened up the periscope in the sink, and taken the bunk entrance apart. Carter and LeBeau are over in Barracks 3 helpin' the lads put the washstand back together."

"Good." With a casual movement, Hogan shifted the three of clubs from Newkirk's deck. "Where's Kinch?"

"Tryin' to convince ol' Schultzie that the explosions are Allied shells fallin' around us. Schultz came in here complaining that Klink shouldn't surrender before he gives 'im that twelve-hour pass he promised 'im months ago." The barracks rattled with another deep rolling boom. "One more."

"Good old Schultz," Hogan said with genuine affection. "He never sees anything, but it might be a bit hard on him _not_ seeing all those empty bunks."

"What are you gonna do with all those empty barracks?" Newkirk asked. "I know for a fact there's not enough Krauts to fill 'em."

"Chop them up for firewood. We sure need it."

"Hey, steady on there, Guv'nor," Newkirk protested, protecting his card game from Hogan's fingers. "If we get wood for the stoves, my feet'll defrost permanently."

Hogan drained the mug and set it down on the table. "What's wrong with that?"

"I'll be able to feel me cold toes, that's what's wrong." The Englishman wore a half-grin that grew with the explosion that shook the building.

* * *

Hogan tried to contain his excitement as he pulled on his dress uniform. He reminded himself that the war was not yet over, that this could be the most dangerous mission he and his men had ever undertaken, that they would still be stuck in the confines of barbed wire and gloomy German countryside.

It didn't help much.

All around the camp, prisoners were packing their personal kit, hiding their accumulated contraband equipment in the remaining tunnels, and making sure that none of their clandestine hiding places could be accidentally discovered and reopened.

Kinch quietly distributed weapons to men he was sure could be trusted, and provided each one with a handful of ammunition. He hoped that it wouldn't be needed.

For once all the remaining prisoners were ready and alert when roll call was announced.

Hogan and his men lined up in the yard and waited for Klink to assemble his men. The empty guard towers gave the camp a strangely lopsided feeling as all of the guards and patrols fell into formation behind the rigid figure of Colonel Wilhelm Klink.

The two colonels came to attention and saluted one another. Klink took a deep breath and pulled a sheaf of papers from his pocket.

"He's gonna make a speech," Carter quietly groaned from beside Kinch.

"He wouldn't dare," Hogan mumbled back, then sagged in disappointment as Klink began to read from his notes.

"As I look about the sea of smiling faces before me—"

"We're scowling," Hogan said under his breath, just loud enough for the men closest to him to hear. Quiet snickers ran through the group.

"—I am reminded of that great moment when I entered the army many years ago—"

"We don't want to be reminded of it."

"—knowing, even then, that even the greatest of military careers must come to an end—"

"You're delaying yours."

"—although I would not say that my career is ending, as such, merely moving to a different sphere of influence—"

"Not fast enough to suit me."

"—and it is my hope that I will continue to be a leader for my men—"

"Poor devils."

"—and provide that guidance and example which distinguishes the German officer from all those around him. I therefore—did someone say something?" Klink looked around suspiciously, but every mouth was closed tightly. "—I therefore surrender my command and relinquish control of Luft Stalag 13 to Colonel Hogan."


	6. Taking Over

Hogan stepped forward and once again they exchanged salutes. Klink looked around helplessly, knowing that the traditional procedure was to hand over a weapon, but all he carried was a riding crop.

"It's okay, Colonel, you don't need to pass over your monocle or anything," Hogan said under his breath, then pulled himself up to address the German soldiers. "Soldiers of the Third Reich!" he said in his best German. "For you the war is over."

A ripple ran through the Allies at the sound of words they had all heard over and over. Even those who spoke no German understood the meaning.

"It will not be long before the Allied armies arrive at Stalag 13. You will be well treated and given protection from the fighting, but anyone who causes trouble will be reported to the authorities. We have left the barracks in order—I trust that you will find them comfortable. Now you will please place your weapons here."

Hogan and Klink stood side by side and watched as, one by one, the surrendering soldiers stepped forward and stacked their weapons in a pile.

Schultz reluctantly laid down his rifle. "I didn't keep it loaded anyway. Now I will have nothing to keep me company."

"Never mind, Schultz," Hogan consoled. "We'll get you a teddy bear."

"Thank you," the still-fat sergeant smiled, and shuffled back to his place in the line.

Klink sniffed scornfully. "The German soldier does not need a teddy bear for company!" he snapped.

"_Herr Kommandant_, I mean, _Herr Senior Kriegsgefangenschaft Offizier_," Schultz corrected himself with dignity. "I am no longer a German soldier but a German Prisoner of War, and a German prisoner might very well need a teddy bear for company. In fact, I think—"

"Oh, shut up," Klink moaned.

When all the former guards were unarmed and once again standing in formation, Hogan turned to his own men. "Kinch, assign a guard and lookout detail and then arrange for distribution and storage of these weapons."

"Right away, Colonel." Kinch nodded. The rows of men broke up and scattered as Kinch sent them around the camp.

"Colonel Klink." Hogan didn't allow his voice to change as he addressed the man who had once been his captor. "My men and I will be occupying your quarters. You are of course welcome to remove any of your personal belongings that you don't think we can be trusted to treat carefully."

"Oh . . . well, I . . . that is," Klink stammered. "I have my riding crop, and my monocle . . ."

"Well, you're welcome to that," Hogan declared. "I'll be available if you need to see me for anything, but in the meantime—" he gave his usual sloppy salute "—you're dismissed."

* * *

Piles of paperwork covered the desk in the inner office. Hogan sat in the chair that had once belonged to Klink, going over the records and making note of anything unusual, while Baker methodically removed the various listening devices that the P.O.W.s had planted over the years.

The telephone rang once. "Want me to get that?" Baker asked.

"Hilda's in the outer office," Hogan said absently, picking up a list of transferred prisoners. "She's already got it."

There was a soft tap on the door and Hilda stuck her head in. "Excuse me, but a General Kauffmann wants to talk to Colonel Klink. He's calling from Berlin."

"Oh boy." Hogan dropped the list. "Did he say what he wants?"

"No, but he didn't like being asked to wait." She wore a worried frown. "He called yesterday, but Colonel Klink was outside at the time."

"Baker, get Carter in here now," Hogan ordered. "He's the best Klink we've got."

The sergeant vanished as he said the last word of the sentence. Hilda began to pick up the files that were scattered around the room while Hogan paced.

When Carter was seated at Hilda's desk with the phone to his ear, Hogan picked up the extension to listen in. Baker hovered beside him.

"Ah! General Kauffmann, so good of you to call!" Carter had the perfect quaver in his voice.

"Kink?" a harsh voice growled on the other end of the line.

Carter automatically shook his head even though his caller couldn't see him. "That's Klink. K-L-I-N-K," he spelled. "And I'd just like to say, General—"

"Shut up!" Kauffmann shouted. "Is it true that you have never had a successful escape from Luft Stalag 13?"

"Oh, you've heard of our perfect record, never a single escape from Stalag 13 in all the time I've been Kommandant here," Carter boasted.

"You must employ a great many troops?' Kauffmann asked.

Hogan silently groaned. The general was angling for personnel. The last thing they needed was German brass trying to poach troops and discovering that a group of Allies were technically running a military operation behind enemy lines.

"I am functioning with the smallest possible staff, General," Carter tittered nervously. "You know how it is in wartime, General, everything is rationed." Even though the situation was deadly serious, Hogan couldn't help but admire the young sergeant's acting ability.

"Klink, I need some of your troops!" Kauffmann insisted. "The Allies are pushing into Germany and our Fuehrer has ordered that we crush them once and for all!"

"Actually, General, I don't think the Fuehrer would approve of my giving you troops," Carter was still fawning in true Klink style, but unlike the genuine article he actually had a backbone. "You see, General Kauffmann, we have received personal commendation from Herr Hitler himself on our perfect record. He adored our barbed wire when he visited with his staff."

"Der Fuehrer . . . at Stalag 13?" Kauffmann sounded taken aback.

Carter followed up his advantage. "Oh yes, General Kauffmann, we have been honored by the presence of our glorious leader on more than one occasion. He even came here to personally question an agent who had just returned from a mission."

He caught Colonel Hogan's eye through the open door, and quick as a wink swiped his hair down into his eyes. The hand not holding the phone flipped up in a heil salute as his face pulled into scowling Hitler lines.

Hogan and Baker doubled over in silent laughter as Kauffmann stammered an apology.

The next moment Carter transformed from a wild-eyed madman back into their familiar awkward, smiling, innocent buddy. "Well, how could you know that our humble little prisoner of war camp was of such importance to the Fuehrer?" He somehow managed to sound condescending and conciliating at the same time, a talent that Hogan had previously attributed only to Klink himself. "Of course, since it is your first offence I will not bring it to the attention of our beloved leader. I am sure that he has enough to concern himself about with the Americans and the Russians without hearing about the frivolous requests of his own generals!"

"I-I apologize, _mein Herr Oberst_," Kauffmann hurried. He hastily ended the call before any more threats could be made.

Carter pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it. "That wasn't very nice of him," he said in his normal, slightly vacant voice. "He hung up without saying goodbye."


	7. Settling In

LeBeau was whistling under his breath as he entered the front gates and crossed the yard. His pockets were full of scrounged ingredients for use in his new position as head of the mess hall, and a small brown object was tucked under his arm.

"Hey, Schultzie!" At the friendly greeting, Schultz pushed away from his leaning position against the wall of Barracks 2 and joined him by the front steps of the commandant's office.

"Hello, little Cockroach. The midday meal was _wunderbar_," he complimented. "How do you like being me for a change?'

LeBeau patted the guard's enormous stomach. "There's a little size difference, don't you think? How do you like being me?"

"Well, I cannot cook like you," Schultz acknowledged gravely. "Do you think the Allies will be here soon?"

"Don't you like it here?" LeBeau asked.

Schultz looked over both shoulders before replying. "It's not so bad. If Kommandant-Senior-Offizier Klink would not be so hard to get along with, I would think that Colonel Hogan should have come up with this idea earlier."

"You mean you like being a prisoner?" the Frenchman demanded incredulously.

Why not? I see the same faces around me, but I do not have to walk a post, and I can say whatever I want to the Big Shot and he cannot send me to the Russian Front."

"You do have a point there." LeBeau held out the brown object. "Here, we fixed this up for you."

Carefully Schultz took the item and looked it over, and his round face broke into a grin. "It's a teddy bear! _Danke_, my little friend. I will keep it with me and then I will not miss my rifle." He tucked it into his tunic so that only the face peeked out and marched jauntily away.

"What was that?" The question from the steps made LeBeau spin around. Hogan stood there, capless, his hair rumpled as though he had run his hand through it.

"Oh, it's just the teddy bear we promised Schultz," he explained. "You look tired, Colonel."

"I am tired," Hogan sighed. "Where did you find a teddy bear?"

LeBeau shifted slightly. "Oh, we just . . . found one."

"Hi, Colonel!" a cheerful Cockney accent chirped. Newkirk strolled up with a ring of keys jangling between his fingers. "You'll be pleased to know that everything is secure. Weapons not in use are locked up nice an' tight."

"Thanks, Newkirk," Hogan said.

"Hey, Newkirk, Schultz loved the teddy bear. Said he's going to keep it with him all the time," LeBeau blurted out.

The Englishman scowled at him. "You and your big mouth."

"Wait a minute. Newkirk made Schultz a teddy bear?" Hogan asked, looking from one sheepish face to the other.

"Well, I . . . I can't 'elp it, sir," Newkirk excused himself. "I'm a bit sentimental."

* * *

Schultz tiptoed into an empty Barracks 2, the toy still sitting in the top of his tunic. "What do you think?" he asked the teddy. "I have always seen nothing, nothing! But now I am not responsible for the prisoners' monkey business, and it will not hurt me to see something for a change."

Moving surprisingly lightly for a man of his diameter, he closed the door and tiptoed over to the bunk that had become Langenscheidt's. He glanced around the room and then slowly raised one pudgy finger. It took him several attempts to work up the courage to poke the side of the bunk.

Nothing moved.

With another quick check around to make sure he was still alone, he bent down and examined the underneath of the lower bunk. There was nothing unusual or out of place.

"What do you think you're doing?"

The familiar voice made him jerk upward and hit his head. Schultz let out a yelp and scrambled to his feet as quickly as he could, bracing himself against the bunk for support. It shifted several inches.

The scowling form of Colonel Klink filled the doorway to what had once been Hogan's quarters, riding crop firmly under his arm and his monocle in place.

"_H-H-H-Herr Senior Kriegsgefangenschaft Offizier_! I was . . . I-I-I . . ."

"Never mind!" Klink threw his hands in the air. "Come into my office. I want to talk to you."

He led the way into the small room that had seen so many plots and schemes formed, and pulled the door shut. "Now Schultz, I want you to help me."

The sergeant's eyes widened with anticipation. "Do you want to promote me to the position of your official aide?" he asked hopefully.

"Hah!" Klink scoffed. "That will happen when Wagner composes American Jazz!"

"But Herr Kommandant, the composer Wagner is dead," Schultz protested faintly.

"_Dummkopf_! For the last few years I have been plagued by the manipulation of Colonel Hogan and his men," Klink began.

"_Herr Senior Kriegsgefangenschaft Offizier_—"

"Oh Schultz, just call me Colonel Klink," the colonel interrupted with an impatient huff.

"Very well, Colonel Klink. I think that Colonel Hogan has been very good to you," Schultz said gravely. "He stopped General Burkhalter from sending you to the Russian front, and he got rid of the Gestapo man who wanted to take over Stalag 13."

"I know, I know," Klink replied dismissively. "But Hogan still caused me a great deal of worry and stress while he was the senior officer of the prisoners, and I owe him something for that!"

Schultz sighed. "Herr—Colonel Klink, I would be much happier to see and hear nothing, nothing!"

"I will plan an escape," Klink said with relish, ignoring his sergeant's reluctance.

"But Colonel Hogan said not to!" Schultz protested, genuine horror on his face. "You could get hurt!"

"Oh, I don't plan to really escape. I'll just go out for long enough to show Hogan how much trouble an escaping prisoner can be to a commandant. Then I'll come back when he's good and sorry for all the hair I've lost!" He ran a protective hand over the top of his head. "Now I must report to Colonel Hogan. I'll show him what a model prisoner I can be, and you will come with me."

"But Captain Gruber . . ."

"Never mind that . . . that Nazi! Are you coming?" Klink marched toward the door.

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Schultz mumbled. As he left the barracks he gave one last look at the bunk and decided that he would not change his policy and try to see something. "Someone else might see it too," he told the teddy.


	8. A Toast

" . . . and my men are not happy about the time set for the last roll call," Klink concluded his list of complaints. He was sitting in the chair opposite Hogan's desk, and Schultz stood behind him fidgeting with his new teddy.

"I'm sorry to hear that your men aren't happy, sir—" Hogan couldn't get rid of the old habit of address. "—but we want to keep everyone safe, and since electricity is so erratic it doesn't make sense to depend on the electric lights."

"But it's too close to dinner time," Klink protested. "The men don't have time to properly digest their food before they have to rush out and stand at attention."

"I do," Schultz put in. "The cooking of the little Cockroach is so good that I eat everything very quickly."

Klink turned to glare at him. "Oh shut up!"

Hogan leaned back in the chair and it gave a creak. "Colonel Klink, the roll calls will stay as they are."

"The Geneva Convention—" Klink tried hopefully.

"Sorry," Hogan said again. "It's obvious what you're trying to do, and it won't work. I'm not easily manipulated, so you may as well give up now."

"Nhhh!" Klink huffed in defeat and rose, knocking his chair sideways and nearly bumping into Schultz.

Hogan stood with him. "You're dismissed, Colonel."

"Oh. Thank you." Klink belatedly saluted, trying to give the gesture an imitation of Hogan's airy manner and not quite succeeding.

Schultz trailed him to the door, but looked back over his shoulder. "Colonel Hogan? The roll calls are not really a problem, you know."

"I know." Hogan winked conspiratorially.

"Schu-uullltz!"

* * *

Hogan pulled the curtains closed and then dropped onto the sofa with a huge sigh. The other four followed his example, sprawling wearily around the living room of the commandant's quarters.

"You know, running a prisoner of war camp is very hard work," Hogan declared. "No wonder Klink went bald."

Carter adjusted one of the pillows in the armchair he was draped across. "Don't worry, sir, you have plenty of hair. It'll last until the Allies arrive."

"Oh, thanks a lot." Hogan gave him a skeptical grin. "What happens if they take a wrong turn or something and don't get here for weeks?"

"You don't have to worry about that, sir," Carter said seriously. "They aren't very far away. Baker heard it on the radio this afternoon."

"A radio message came in?" Hogan inquired with a frown. "Why wasn't I told immediately?"

Kinch linked his fingers behind his head and leaned back into the sofa. "You were talking to Klink, and the message wasn't urgent. It was part of a message between two American tank commanders that our radio managed to pick up. Baker figured they must be pretty close for him to be able to hear them."

"Okay," Hogan nodded. "Meanwhile, we don't have it all bad, I suppose, although I think Klink's taste in furniture is kinda old fashioned."

Newkirk looked around appreciatively. "What a pity we didn't take over before the ol' buzzard's private cellar emptied completely."

"Who says it emptied completely?" LeBeau jumped up and hurried into the kitchen, returning triumphantly with a bottle held high. He was met with cheers of approval, and Carter immediately went in search of glasses. "It is from General Burkhalter's last visit when he brought the case of wine to go with dinner. I hid it in a chafing dish in Klink's pantry in case it was ever needed. Colonel?"

"This is definitely an occasion when it's needed." Hogan accepted the glass but didn't drink until all the men had been served. "I would like to propose a toast. To the four of you—" he looked around the room. "—LeBeau, Carter, Kinch and Newkirk. I'm more grateful than I can say for the privilege of working with you. You've gone above and beyond the call of duty so far and so often, and without complaining—much, anyway."

The last comment brought chuckles to cover the sudden emotion that attacked them. Hogan raised his glass high. "No matter what happens in the future, I want you to know you've been the best team anyone ever had!" They drank in silence, and then LeBeau shared the last of the bottle evenly among the glasses.

Kinch took an obvious breath and lifted his glass in Hogan's direction. "Colonel Hogan . . ." he paused and tried again. "I can't imagine a better commanding officer . . . here's to Colonel Hogan."

"To Colonel Hogan!" Carter echoed.

Newkirk raised his glass. "The Guv'nor!"

"To the Colonel," LeBeau said softly.

* * *

"You're sleeping there, and that's final." Hogan had his officer's voice on as he faced off with Kinch. His second in command still wasn't back to full strength after his bout of pneumonia, and after the other guys left Hogan had taken a blanket and pillow to the living room sofa for himself. It beat where he had been sleeping for the last few years.

"But Colonel Hogan, the bedroom is for the ranking officer," Kinch protested. "Besides, you need the sleep."

"Are you kidding? I'd never get any sleep in that room—I'd be imagining Klink everywhere I looked. Now turn the light out and go to bed or I'll come and tuck you in myself." Hogan pulled the blanket over himself and turned over so his back was to Kinch, ending the discussion. After a few moments the light flicked out, and he heard the bedroom door close.

In spite of the extremely soft bed, Kinch dropped into a sound sleep. The ringing of the telephone jolted him awake, and it took him a moment to remember where he was.

He sat up and switched on the lamp, raising his wrist to check his watch. "Who calls at 2300 hours?" he mumbled, picking up the receiver. "_Ja_?"

A few sentences later he was out of bed and hurrying into the living room. "Colonel Hogan?" He shook the colonel's shoulder, and Hogan grunted. "There's a phone call for Hilda. The guy wouldn't leave a message—said he had to tell her something in person. I thought you might know what he wants."

Hogan sat up, fully awake. "Did he say his name?"

"Nope." Kinch pointed to the bedroom. "I'll wait out here while you talk to him."

Col Hogan tossed back his blanket and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Kinch sat down on the sofa to wait and wonder why Hogan hadn't seemed surprised that someone was calling the camp looking for Hilda.

It seemed like hours, but according to the gentle ticking of the clock on the wall it was only a few minutes before the bedroom door opened. Kinch was shocked at the bleak expression that his commanding officer wore. "Trouble, sir?"

"Yeah." Hogan took a seat beside him and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Kinch, how do you tell someone that their whole family is dead and has been since last winter?"

"Whoa, that's tough. Was it a bombing?" Kinch's brain caught up with his ears. "Last winter?"

"She's been searching for them since they were arrested at the start of the war. That phone call was to say they've finally confirmed it. Her father, mother, and two brothers never left Gestapo 'custody'."

"Why'd he call here?"

"She gave him the number to call thinking that he'd report during the daytime and she'd be able to talk to him. And I don't think she wanted to give any information about where she lived in case something happened to her contact."

"Her contact?" Kinch cautiously probed.

Hogan lifted his head out of his hands and looked the sergeant squarely in the eyes. "I can't tell you everything—I promised her I wouldn't—and what you do hear can't go any further. Got that?"

"I got it."


	9. Top Hat, White Tie & Identity Papers

If the reader likes this chapter, special credit must go to Konarciq and Sgt Moffit, whose wonderful stories first made me realize that in the world of fanfiction, characters can be connected by more story than just being played by the same actor. If no one likes it, the blame for a wild imagination must be all my own and should not reflect on anyone else.

* * *

(After the dinner party, Season 1/Episode 10)

_He was still smiling as he changed into the uniform of a Luftwaffe captain. The look on Burkhalter's face when he drew the sketch of the vacuum cleaner had been absolutely priceless. The fact that he had also contacted the agent in town plus had an evening out of camp as the honored guest of the Germans was nothing to complain about, either._

_Silently he slipped out of the barracks, trying hard not to speculate about why Gretchen wanted to meet with him. Even though she knew the code word of an underground group, she still didn't seem that bright. After all, it took a girl with pretty awful taste to hang out with a drip like Klink, and there was the fact that Klink said they met at a Nazi picnic to keep in mind._

_There were still a few patrons in the café even this late at night. The one he had come to meet occupied a table in the back corner of the room, and he ordered himself a drink before casually sauntering over._

_Relief flashed over her face as he approached. "Abend, liebchen," he said in a clear voice in case anyone felt like listening in. "Sorry to keep you waiting."_

_"You came. I wasn't sure if you would." Gretchen fiddled with the purse resting on the table, still dressed in her gray gown from the dinner party. She had a very faint lisp, just enough to make her speech memorable. That could be a dangerous thing._

_"Didn't you get enough of my company earlier?" he bantered._

_She gave a small, ladylike grimace. "With Colonel Klink hovering over us? I had to speak with you privately, Colonel Hogan. Franz said that you can help me."_

_"Depends." Hogan took a deep swallow of his drink, not willing to give away any information. "What do you need help with?"_

_"I need a new identity. Can you provide me with papers?" She leaned forward, pleading, showing no hint of the flirtation from earlier in the evening._

_Hogan frowned and then noticed that a waiter was watching them. He relaxed his face and deliberately covered her hands with one of his. "Careful of the waiter," he murmured under his breath. "What about that Strength Through Joy picnic where you met Klink? Surely you must have some Gestapo connections there that could help you?"_

_Gretchen winced. "I did meet Klink at the picnic. There was an SS officer there who had—I thought he had some information I wanted, so I attended the picnic in the hope that I could convince him to talk . . . it was a foolish idea."_

_"What did you want to know?" Hogan was inwardly shaking his head. It sounded like the silly girl was trying to play spy all by herself and had gotten caught._

_"I . . . can't tell you."_

_The lamplight reflected on twin tears resting on her cheeks, and with an instinctive male horror of a crying woman he brushed them away with his thumb. "What's your real name?" he asked gently. "If you tell me what you wanted to know I might be able to help."_

_She was silent for so long that he began to wonder if she would answer. "My family disappeared in one of the purges in 1940—my father was able to get me false documents when the trouble first began, so I was not taken with them." She gave a hopeless gesture toward the blonde hair stacked on her head. "Ever since I have been trying to trace them, to know what has happened to them. I had to leave Berlin when the Gestapo became suspicious, and I came to Hamilburg because Franz is an old schoolmate of mine and I thought that he might be able to help me."_

_Her gaze never wavered from his, and it was that as much as the catch in her voice that convinced Hogan. "So you need travel papers to get you out of Germany and back to England?"_

_"No." She pulled her hands away. "I need new identity papers so that I can stay here and continue my search. You must understand. I cannot leave until I know!"_

_"Easy," Hogan soothed. "Look, I'll get you the papers, but you need to get out of here. You won't help your family by getting caught yourself."_

_Gretchen's only reply was a sniff as she hunted in her purse for something. With a sigh Hogan produced a handkerchief and dried her face. "What's your real name?" he repeated._

_"Hanne Goldberg." She spoke in a barely audible whisper._

_"I'll keep your secret."_

_He'd kept his word, taking the picture she provided and returning a full set of German identity papers by the hand of one of his underground contacts without explaining why or who it was for. And in spite of the way she made his heart leap, he put her out of his mind . . . until the time when Colonel Klink's secretary Helga took a two-week leave of absence and never returned . . ._

_(_After Season 1, before Season 2)

_Hogan entered Klink's office one morning and found the kommandant pacing nervously. "Something the matter, sir?" he asked in a concerned tone._

_Klink met him with a scowl. "Oh no, not you Hogan. I have enough trouble already. I'm supposed to be at a meeting with Colonel Feldkamp this morning, and the new secretary is late."_

_"New secretary? Isn't today the day that Helga comes back?" Hogan discreetly filched a cigar and tucked it into his pocket for later._

_Klink flopped down into his desk chair. "Fraulein Helga isn't coming back."_

_"Not coming back!" Hogan repeated with genuine alarm. She knew enough about their Stalag 13 operation to get her into real trouble._

_"While she was on leave she met a Swiss border guard and eloped with him," Klink moaned._

_"She what!" Of all the things Hogan expected to hear, that wasn't on the list._

_"She sent me a postcard from a ski resort at St. Moritz to let me know, and now I have to train a new secretary."_

_"It won't be easy finding one like Helga," Hogan commiserated, crossing his arms with a frown._

_"A new girl is supposed to be coming this morning, recommended by Oskar Gestler from the Hausnerhof in Hamilburg—apparently she has a good head for bookwork and organized his accounts most efficiently." Klink had his lower lip stuck out in a slight pout. "She's probably a Gertrude Linkmeyer lookalike."_

_"Not possible," Hogan replied confidently. "There couldn't be two women like that on earth."_

_Klink picked up his riding crop and got up to resume his pacing. "I need to leave, or I'll be late to the meeting with Colonel Feld—"_

_The sound of the door opening cut off the rest of his sentence. Both men caught their breath, but for slightly different reasons._

_"I'm sorry I'm late, but a patrol stopped me on the road," she said apologetically._

_"I can see why." Klink tried to sound suave. "Excuse me, but haven't we met before somewhere?"_

_Hogan hid a grimace and pulled Klink to the side. "Come on Klink, that has to be the worst pick-up line ever!" he said quietly._

_"What do you mean?" Klink demanded._

_"Well, if you have met her before she gets mad because you didn't remember her straight away. If you haven't seen her before, she gets mad because you're thinking that she reminds you of some other girl. Either way, you strike out first time up at bat."_

_"Bat?" The kommandant was lost._

_Hogan rolled his eyes. "Never mind."_

_Klink turned back to the tall blonde woman. "You're hired. Oh, what did you say your name was?"_

_"Hilda Kohnecke." Her eyes flicked over to Hogan for a brief moment._

_"Wonderful!" Klink bubbled. "I'm sure you can see how badly we are in need of your help around here." His hand waved in the general direction of the paper-swamped desk._

_"And Colonel Feldkamp is in need of your advice at his meeting, sir," Hogan reminded. Klink glared at him._

_Hilda immediately moved out of the doorway. "Oh, are you attending a meeting this morning? I'm so sorry to have delayed you! I'm sure I'll be able to find everything I'll need."_

_"Your car arrived outside a few minutes ago, sir. You don't want to keep the engine running any longer than necessary and use up fuel needed for the war effort," Hogan prompted._

_Mumbling under his breath, Klink marched out of the office. Hilda lifted her chin and refused to back down from Hogan's stern expression. "I thought we had a deal that you would go to England," he said in a clipped tone._

_"I found a lead on where my family might be located," she replied. "But I needed money for my search, and I thought that a job at a prison camp might be a way that I could possibly aid the Allies."_

_Hogan shook his head in disbelief._

_"Besides," she added sweetly. "This would be as good a place as any for me to hide, right under the Nazis' very noses. Where better than under a nose as short-sighted as Colonel Klink's?"_

_"There you got me," Hogan reflected for a moment on the ongoing stupidity of the kommandant. "But Hilda, we have some very nasty characters come through here—visiting Klink, not me. I don't hang out with those types—and I don't think you understand just how dangerous it can be."_

_She picked up a stack of mail, sorted it, and set it down in a neat pile. "I know you have some kind of escape operation running here. I won't give you away," was all she replied._

_Hogan tried a different tack and pulled her into his arms. "Look, honey, how am I supposed to do what I need to do if I'm worrying about you and your safety?"_

_She tipped her chin up and he indulged in a long kiss, fully expecting by the way she responded that Kinch would soon be calling the sub to take her to England._

_"I need to finish this filing before the kommandant returns," she told him when he lifted his head._

_He was so taken aback that for a moment his arms fell, and she easily moved away from him. "Aren't you going to England?"_

_"I just got a job." She began to sort another pile of papers._

_He heaved a sigh and admitted defeat, taking the local train schedules from the desk and stuffing them into his pocket. His fingers met something soft, and he pulled it out. "Here. I brought these over for Helga so she'd give me the railway timetable. I've got it, so you may as well take them. They'll look better on you than on me." He held out the nylon stockings._

_She took them cautiously. "Helga—the previous secretary?"_

_"Yeah, we had this little deal going. I got her stuff like nylons, coffee, real chocolate, in exchange for information now and then," he explained._

_Hilda fingered the nylons. "That's worth a lot of information."_

* * *

Kinch was shaking his head when Hogan finished. "But she asked for so much! Perfume, chocolate, coffee . . ."

"She took every bit of it and used it to bargain for leads on her family's whereabouts," Hogan informed him wearily, stifling a yawn.

"I'll send Hilda into your office first thing in the morning. Now you better get some sleep, sir. It's pretty late."

"You must be as tired as I am," Hogan evaded.

"Yeah, but I'm used to working the night shift." Kinch rose and flipped the light switch, resolving to keep the other guys away from the office in the morning. There were many times he was glad he wasn't the Colonel, and this was definitely one of them.


	10. Escape Arrangements

LeBeau wore a satisfied smile as he looked across the yard and saw Schultz's teddy tucked in the sergeant's pocket, but he didn't stop to chat. He took the steps to the office two at a time and yanked open the door.

The sudden appearance of Kinch and Baker set him back hard on his heels, and he barely escaped being knocked flat by jumping out of the way. "Watch where you're—!"

"Sorry, gotta go fix the . . ." Kinch's words faded as he vanished around the corner of the building with Baker behind him.

The short Frenchman scowled at the place where he had seen their backs disappear. "I don't know how they can run like that on a breakfast of leftover potatoes, even if they were made with my secret seasoning."

He entered the outer office to find it empty, but the crack between the door and frame allowed voices to drift out of Hogan's office. LeBeau started over, but the words he heard stopped him short.

" . . . call last night from Franz," Hogan sounded unusually somber.

"He knows something." It was Hilda, speaking barely above a whisper. "If it was good news you would have told me right away."

"I'm sorry, honey. He found records from late '43—"

"Don't." Hilda sounded as though she was crying. "Don't tell me now. I won't be able to stand seeing those people, pretending to be one of them, knowing what . . ."

"If you don't want to go back to town, I'll try and arrange something," Hogan offered.

"No. No escape, not until this is all over." LeBeau's eyebrows shot skyward at her words.

"Actually, I was going to say that you could hide here until the liberation."

"I have to go back to Hamilburg," Hilda insisted. "Frau Uphoff lost her home in a bombing last week and has been staying with me, and Frau Weisner in the apartment next door is elderly and can barely walk. I can't just leave them."

Hogan heaved a sigh. "All right. As long as you know that the moment we get out of here I'm packing you off to the States."

"I know." Her voice broke into a sob. "I wouldn't be able to keep going otherwise."

LeBeau peered through the gap and saw the colonel fold her in a protective embrace. He realized with a jolt that he was eavesdropping on a conversation that he had no right to hear and guiltily tiptoed away to wait on the porch.

"There you are, Kinch!"

The tall sergeant paused in the act of climbing the steps. "You been there long?'

"You should know, you almost knocked me flat," LeBeau grumbled.

Kinch stepped up on the porch, peered in the door, then pulled his head back and shut the door firmly behind him. "Sorry 'bout that. A work detail was pulling down Barracks 12 and a sinkhole opened up where the tunnel used to be. I had to stop the work and set some of the guys to take care of it before any of the Krauts noticed."

"Yes, well, it seems to be a bad morning all round," the Frenchman mumbled under his breath.

"How's that?"

"Today's the day the supply trucks were scheduled to arrive, and all our men around the camp are dressed in their own uniforms. Now I know there's not a lot, but supplies are still supplies. Won't it be a problem if the drivers and guards realize who are the prisoners here?"

Kinch relaxed. "It's okay. Schnitzer's making sure that Underground people are replacing the Krauts."

There was a shout from Mills, perched up in the guard tower nearest to the road, echoed by Arminster in the next tower over, and most of the activity around camp paused to see what was happening.

"There they are now." Kinch pointed to the front gates. "You better go manage your mess hall. I'll call Colonel Hogan."

* * *

The driver of the truck was dressed in civilian clothing, and he seemed content to stand and talk with Sergeant Kinchloe and the two 'guards' who had abandoned their patrol of the perimeter wire.

Klink stood in the doorway of Barracks 2 and watched with a scowl on his face. "Schultz, come here," he ordered without turning around. The hefty sergeant pushed himself up from the table and obediently joined him. "Do you see that man? I'm certain that he is Max the greengrocer from town."

Schultz squinted. "I think he looks like the chef from the Ratskeller who makes the bratwurst and sauerkraut dish."

"Do you ever think about anything but food?" Klink demanded, exasperated. "I am telling you, that man is Max who owns the fruit shop."

"If you say so, Herr—Colonel Klink," Schultz agreed, but silently mouthed "bratwurst with sauerkraut" with a wistful expression.

Kinchloe turned away from the truck and cupped his hands around his mouth. "I need volunteers to unload the trucks!" he called across the yard. Corporals Langenscheidt and Adler left their forbidden dice game and started over, followed by Sgt Schmidt.

A sudden inspiration struck Colonel Klink and he pushed Schultz forward. "You cover for me. I have to talk to that driver!"

Mumbling protests, Schultz ambled over to the truck with Klink doing his best to walk hunched over in an effort to hide his progress behind the sergeant's bulk.

"Psst!" he hissed at the driver of the truck, ducking into the shadows while Schultz joined the unloading crew. "Psst! _Entschuldigung, bitte_!" It took several attempts for the civilian to notice him. "Are you Max the greengrocer from Hamilburg?"

"_Ja_," Max snapped. "And you are Colonel Klink, ex-Kommandant of Stalag 13."

Klink nodded hastily. "_Ja, ja, ja_. And you are a loyal German, are you not?"

"What has that to do with anything?" Max asked, suspicion coloring his tone.

"I want to—" Klink looked around to make sure that no one was listening. "—to escape, and I need your help."

"Why should I help you? You are now a prisoner of the Allied forces."

"I can pay," Klink pleaded. "A thousand marks if you have a car waiting on the road tomorrow night. What do you say, eh?"

Whatever the grocer would have replied was cut off by Kinchloe's appearance around the front of the truck. "The supplies are unloaded, Max, and Colonel Hogan is waiting for you in his office," he said politely, and the older man moved away. "Oh, hello Colonel Klink."

"Hello, Sergeant Kinchloe . . ." Klink said nervously. "I was just saying hello to Max, listening to some German words for a change, you know. It can be nice to hear your mother tongue on occasion . . ."

"Sir, you're surrounded by your men. They all speak German," Kinch reminded.

"Oh yes! Of course, well, I . . ."


	11. The Phone Call

The jangle of the telephone on the desk jerked Kinch's attention away from the radio part he was repairing for Baker. "Stalag 13," he growled into the receiver.

"This is General Burkhalter. Put Colonel Klink on the line," a familiar voice ordered sharply.

"I am sorry, Herr General, but Colonel Klink is, eh, inspecting the barracks. I don't know how long it would take me to find him," Kinch apologized. "Can I give him a message?"

"Yes, you can give him a message, and make sure he obeys it!" Burkhalter snapped. "Tell him that lunatic Major Hochstetter is after me, and I have decided to take refuge in Stalag 13. Under no circumstances is Klink to allow Hochstetter access to the camp! Understood?"

"But Herr General—" Kinch protested with genuine horror.

"No buts! Klink is to send a staff car to the guard post on the road five miles south of the camp. I will send my driver back to Berlin to throw Hochstetter off the trail."

"I will tell the Kommandant at once," Kinch agreed, heaving a sigh as his mind raced through all the problems that had just arisen.

"Good. What is your name, soldier?" Burkhalter said approvingly.

"Sergeant, eh, Kinchmeyer, Herr General. I am newly assigned to the Stalag 13 command."

"I wouldn't have thought that Klink could have on his staff someone that I could enjoy a sensible conversation with. Perhaps I might look into a promotion for you and a transfer to my staff," Burkhalter offered. "I could use a man like you."

One side of Kinch's mouth quirked up in a wry smile as he thanked the general for the offer and hung up. "He could use a man like me," he mimicked Burkhalter's shrill voice to address the radio part. "I better go tell the Kommandant."

* * *

The silver coffeepot held only thin, weak liquid, and there were no cookies on the delicate china plates, but neither man complained. Puffy-eyed but composed, Hilda insisted on serving the coffee before returning to the outer office to relieve Kinch, leaving Hogan and Max to talk.

"Did you have any trouble with the convoy?" Hogan asked. He sipped his 'coffee' and grimaced.

"No, but you are going to have trouble here," Max informed him in a foreboding tone. "The ex-kommandant with the monocle tried to bribe me to help him escape."

"Oh he did, did he?" Hogan didn't take the attempt too seriously. "He probably wants to annoy me, but he doesn't have the guts to go through with an escape without a lot of help."

"He offered me a thousand marks," the grocer said. "But I think you are right. He was not even brave enough to walk across the yard to talk to me—he hid behind the fat one."

Hogan grinned at the mental picture. "Yep, that sounds like our Klink—" A knock on the door cut off his words. "Come in."

Kinch wore a frown. "Colonel, sorry to bother you but Klink just had a phone call from Burkhalter. The general is coming to Stalag 13 tomorrow to hide from Major Hochstetter."

"Oh, great," Hogan groaned. "Why can't they have their own private war and leave us out of it?"

Max set his cup down with a tinkle of china. "This General Burkhalter, could you not capture him when he arrives and keep him as another prisoner until the Allies arrive?"

Col Hogan considered the idea. "He'd bring Hochstetter to our gates, and I don't like the thought of a fight right here at the camp. No, we can't have that . . ." Absently he stood and began to pace back and forth behind the desk, arms folded across his chest.

Kinch watched his movements for a few moments and then turned to Max with a confident nod. "Don't worry, he's thinking of something. It may make your hair stand on end when you hear it, but he's got a plan."

"Thanks for the support, Kinch." Hogan stopped pacing. "Max, go through with that escape for Klink. Bring the car around for him."

"Can I still charge him the thousand marks?"

The question made both Americans laugh. "You're a great capitalist, Max. Charge him whatever you like," Hogan chuckled. "Just have the car ready for him. Tell him that he has to take the south road—all the others are blocked by the Allied troops or some such nonsense as that. We'll do the rest."

"I'll go tell him." Max rose from his chair and extended his hand to the colonel. "_Danke_ for the coffee."

"Yeah, well, I'll visit after the war and bring a pound of the real McCoy." Hogan's nose wrinkled as he looked down at the pot. "Thanks, Max."

Kinch waited until the door was closed behind the grocer before he spoke again. "Oh, there was one other thing I was supposed to tell you, _Herr Kommandant_. General Burkhalter could use a man like me and offered me a transfer to his staff."

"He what?" Hogan looked his second-in-command up and down with a mock-serious expression. "You know, Kinch, that's the kind of thing that makes a commanding officer suspicious of a guy's background."

White teeth flashed in a dark face as Kinch grinned. "If I hear of any Krauts in my family history I'll let you know."

* * *

Klink was waiting by the front of the truck with an expectant look on his face when Max emerged from the office. "Well?"

"Fifteen hundred marks and you have a car," Max said without preamble.

The ex-kommandant wrinkled his nose and nearly dropped his monocle. "Are you sure you can't make it twelve hundred?" he bargained.

The grocer scowled. "Are you sure you can't stay here and wait for the Americans to arrive?"

"All right, all right," Klink gave in. "Fifteen hundred marks, and the car is waiting for me tomorrow night at dark, near the fence." He spun around and marched away. If he had looked back, he would have seen Max scornfully shaking his head.

* * *

The single track of Carter's mind was completely occupied with the memory of the excellent midday meal that LeBeau had prepared as he headed from the mess hall to Hogan's office, and at first he didn't hear his name being called.

"Sergeant Carter?" Langenscheidt dared to tap his shoulder.

Carter leaped several inches into the air and came down with a thud. "Boy, you sure made me jump!" he exclaimed. "Sorry 'bout that. I didn't hear you."

"I'm sorry I scared you," Langenscheidt said sheepishly. "Corporal Mittendorf and I have a favor to ask." He tugged on the arm of an even more hesitant-looking fellow prisoner and brought him forward.

"Ask away," Carter shrugged.

The corporal took several attempts to get his speech started, then said in a rush, "It is about Kommandant Klink. We know that Colonel Hogan can do many things, and we thought perhaps if he talks to the colonel he can fix everything."

"I can ask him. What's it about?"

"We were only doing it for, how do you say, amusement?" Mittendorf hurried to assure him. "It was nothing more than that, and it was not until Klink started to lose that he became angry."

"What did he lose?" Carter hopefully pursued the thread of conversation.

Langenscheidt grimaced at the memory. "The dice game."


	12. Real Music

". . . and it just isn't right for Klink to waste his escape fund on gambling!" Carter insisted, so caught up in his account that he didn't realize he was nearly shouting at his commanding officer. "I mean, if he offered Max fifteen hundred marks, then he's got no business gambling it away!"

"Oh I agree with you, Carter," Hogan soothed. "Now tell me, why did Langenscheidt and Mittendorf come to you?"

"Well, they wanted me to talk to you about it. They thought that you could fix everything."

Hogan's eyebrow twitched upward. "Their confidence is gratifying—if a little misplaced, after all, I can't do everything. You didn't tell them about Klink's escape plan, did you?"

"No sir," Carter averred. "I was so shocked at hearing about Klink welshing on a deal that I was speechless!"

"Well you ain't speechless now, that's for sure," Newkirk's dry voice added from beside the safe. He was methodically rifling through the contents and making a list of each item. "What are you gonna do, Colonel? It's not like Klink can go get the money from a bank or anything."

"I refuse to lend Klink the money to make an escape with!" Hogan snapped in a tone that left no room for negotiation. "Besides, the only German money we have left is counterfeit, and I'm not sending that to Max."

"Why do we need Klink to escape at all?" Newkirk delicately set a tattered _Madchen_ magazine on the top of a pile of similar publications.

Hogan crossed his arms. "Partly so that Burkhalter won't be suspicious—he'll see dear old Klink's familiar face in the car that meets him—because I'd rather have the surrender discussion here at camp, surrounded by our own men, instead of out in hostile territory."

"You think Burkhalter will be trouble?" Carter asked with a frown. "That seems a bit ungrateful, after all, we are rescuing him from Hochstetter!"

"He's a temperamental Kraut," Newkirk snorted.

"Well, let's just say I want to be prepared for the worst. Carter, did those guys say what they expect me to do about the no-gambling orders?"

"No sir. But they were sure that Colonel Hogan would be able to do something. And you will, won't you, sir?" Carter's eyes held all the sincerity of a puppy expecting a pat. "Langenscheidt and Mittendorf have both been pretty good guys, I mean, for a couple of Krauts."

"I'll be sure and mention it at evening roll call," Hogan promised. "Meanwhile—"

"Sorry to interrupt, Colonel," LeBeau's head appeared around the door. "Newkirk, do you have the keys to the cooler?"

"Right here, mate." Newkirk patted his pocket. "Not that yours truly needs the keys to get anywhere, but it's nice for everyone's peace of mind, eh?"

"I have an idea about using the building for a refrigerator," the Frenchman told him, tugging him out of the room.

* * *

Newkirk was whistling under his breath in a slightly off-key rendition of 'White Cliffs of Dover' as he left the cooler after helping LeBeau with the refrigeration idea. His fingers were absently twirling the ring of keys, tucking them away and making them suddenly reappear, keeping his tricks in practice.

Sounds of a disturbance intruded into his thoughts, and he changed his path to investigate.

Behind the recreation hall, two German prisoners were squabbling loudly in their native language. Schultz stood by, a helpless look on his face, and occasionally tried to quiet the fighters.

"What's goin' on, Schultzie?" Newkirk inquired. He could speak tolerable German, but most of the idiomatic phraseology flying through the air was unfamiliar to him.

The sergeant threw his hands in the air. "They are both musicians. Private Berger played the piano with the Vienna Philharmonic orchestra for a concert before the war, and he is insisting that the piano is the most magnificent instrument. Private Fett was a member of the Hamilburg Junior String Quartet when he was a teenager, and he will not budge from his position that the cello is most beautiful."

"Seems a silly reason to fight, if you ask me," Newkirk rolled his eyes. "I thought these two were the best of friends?"

Schultz tried to tap Berger's shoulder, but the young guard was too busy bouncing on his toes to notice. "They are. That is why they argue. I think they do not have enough to do."

"Look 'ere, lads!" Newkirk intervened, stepping bodily between the two to ensure that they heard. "Why don't you discuss somethin' else. You're worryin' ol' Schultzie. Now go talk about Glenn Miller or Gracie Fields or some other real musicians."

Berger and Fett turned on Newkirk with united vigor, unleashing such a torrent of words that he took an involuntary step back.

"That's no way to talk about our Gracie," Newkirk protested. "You chaps don't know what you're talkin' about."

"Mozart real music!" Fett said in halting but emphatic English. "Bach real music! Jazz 'bah bah bah' not music!"

Newkirk promptly and patriotically lost his temper. "You got no business talkin' that way about our singers! Do we insult you because you play noise that's been dead for three 'undred years? Real music indeed! I'll show the lot of you Krauts, just you wait!"

Ignoring Schultz's pleading, Newkirk stormed toward the commandant's quarters.

Several minutes later Newkirk left Barracks 2 with a smug expression on his face and nearly collided with Kinch. "Hey, what are you doing in there?" the sergeant asked curiously.

"I'm defending the honor of my country," the Englishman declared. "Those Krauts are gonna get what's comin' to 'em."

A kind of sobbing screech drifted from the barracks and penetrated the rest of the camp, and Kinch's face twisted as though he was in pain. "What's that? We don't torture prisoners!"

"They asked for it," Newkirk defended himself.

"Don't tell me—" Kinch winced as the sound crescendoed into a flat A. "Newkirk, you didn't give Klink his violin, did you? Don't you realize we have to listen too?"

Newkirk looked guilty. "I never thought of that."

* * *

LeBeau and Carter were showing Col Hogan around the newly arranged cooler when they heard the squealing sound. "How did Klink get hold of his violin?" Hogan frowned. "I'm sure I had Newkirk lock it away."

LeBeau rubbed his ears. "Why didn't you have him smash it? I have listened to great musicians—I have heard Stephane Grappelli himself! And now my ears are insulted with this . . . this . . ." Words failed him.

"Who's Stephane Grappelli?" Carter asked.

The Frenchman gasped, but it was unclear whether it was because of Carter's ignorance or Klink's wavering C sharp. "Only the greatest fiddler ever to pick up a violin!"

"Oh. He must be nearly as good as Hugh Farr," was Carter's opinion.

"Who's he?" LeBeau was close to sneering.

"Hold it, fellas!" Hogan stepped between them. "This is no time to argue over musicians! I better go stop Klink before that noise drives the Allied invasion back out of Germany."

* * *

A/N: My apologies for taking so long to get this chapter up, but sunshine and hay baling wait for no one! As for the discussion about fiddlers-I haven't made up my own mind whether I prefer Grappelli or Farr. I'm sure everyone has a different opinion so Carter and LeBeau are going to leave this discussion alone!


	13. Bill Of Sale

The first person that Hogan went to was Kinch. After a short discussion on the subject of finance, the second-in-command was dispatched to summon Newkirk to the office of the commandant.

Although his expression was properly repentant, there was a gleam in Newkirk's eye that made Hogan suspect the meekness was false. The impression was confirmed by Newkirk's first words.

"Dreadful racket, ain't it, Guv'nor? I reckon those Krauts are feelin' pretty sorry for what they said about Gracie."

"Newkirk." Hogan used his severe command voice. "Do you want to see me before a war crimes trial? I'm responsible for the running of this camp until someone else gets here to do it, and I won't have you torturing the men under my command."

Newkirk grinned engagingly at him. "As a matter o'fact, I told ol' Klink he had your permission."

"You what? Do you realize the spot you've put me in? How am I gonna confiscate that gadget now?"

"Look Colonel, I'm sorry." Newkirk showed him a guilty face. "I guess I didn't think about the fact that we'd all have to listen to him play."

"Go tell Klink I want to see him here," Hogan ordered. "And no more interfering in German quarrels."

* * *

Hogan eyed the case of the device for human misery with some hostility before raising his gaze to the face of Colonel Klink.

"Sergeant Kinchloe said you wanted to see me." Klink was still uncomfortable on that side of the desk and spoke more forcefully than usual. "Do you want a personal concert?"

"No! Eh, no thanks, that's not what I wanted," Hogan replied hastily. "Colonel Klink, I realize that losing your command must be hard for you, especially as Germany has also lost the war."

Klink's head bobbed in agreement, but Hogan cut him off before he could speak. "You wouldn't like for your violin to fall victim to the Allied advance, would you?"

"What do you mean, fall victim?" Klink demanded.

"Well, you never know. Some fresh young lieutenant in Intelligence might assume that it's a Gestapo transmitting device and confiscate it for examination as a hostile combatant." Hogan offered the outrageous suggestion as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You might never see it again."

"I never thought of that." Klink snatched the case off the desk and clutched it to his chest.

"Although we've been enemies on opposite sides of the war, I think it's fair to say that we've worked together and we respect one another."

Klink vainly tried to see where the conversation was going. "We do? I mean, of course we do!"

"So I'm offering to do you a favor," Hogan continued smoothly. "I'll buy your violin from you and hold it until the war is formally over. A Colonel's possessions are pretty safe in our army. Then when things quiet down, you buy it back from me for the same price. Let's say—five hundred American dollars, which is the equivalent of about fifteen hundred German marks."(1)

"That's a—fifteen hundred marks?" Klink's outrage was cut short as he thought about the offer. "And I get the violin back after the war. Can you give me the money right away?"

"I think I can manage that." A wry smile pulled at Hogan's face. "I'll keep the instrument safe for you until I leave Germany."

"I'd like a receipt and bill of sale." It was rare that Klink showed any business sense, but apparently this was one of the occasions.

Gravely Hogan wrote out two copies of a bill of sale, signed them, and handed over the pile of cash that he and Kinch had scrounged. "There you go, two copies. Sign there and you're a rich man."

Klink took the pen and papers that had been shoved across the desk and scrawled his name. "I may not be rich for long, but you won't be Commandant for long," he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that, Colonel? I didn't quite catch it," Hogan inquired innocently.

"Nothing, nothing." Klink left the violin case on the desk and forgot to salute as he left.

Hogan gingerly picked up the case in his fingertips and held it out as Newkirk strolled into the office. "Take this and the bill of sale and lock them away somewhere safe," the colonel ordered.

"Right, sir." Newkirk took the case.

"And Newkirk? If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I'll tie you to a chair and have Klink serenade you for an hour."

* * *

With his fistful of money concealed under his coat, Klink hurried back to Barracks 2 to drag Sgt. Schultz away from the lecture he was delivering. "Schultz, I want to see you in my office immediately!"

" . . . want your mother to be ashamed of the way she brought you up? Now you tidy your bunk—did you say something to me, Herr Kommandant?"

"Yes I did!" Klink snapped. "Come to my office at once!"

Schultz heaved both a sigh and his substantial bulk up from the bench where he sat. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

The door had hardly closed behind them when Klink pulled the cash out. "Look Schultz! Enough money to pay Max the fruit seller for my escape car."

"You are not still planning to escape, are you, Colonel?" Schultz asked plaintively. "Colonel Hogan will be very upset."

Klink chuckled gleefully. "I know he will. But don't worry, we will be back in camp before long."

"We?" Apprehension covered Schultz's round face. "But I don't want to escape!"

"Don't you want to teach Hogan a lesson for all the trouble he caused? Just because Germany is losing the war does not mean that we have to submit tamely to Hogan's decrees!"

"I think that an escape would cause too much trouble at this time," Schultz explained slowly and with dignity. "I want to have nothing to do with it, nothing!"

"Schultz, you're a coward! A miserable coward who refuses to support his commanding officer in time of need."

"I would rather be a safe coward than an escaper who gets caught by the Gestapo," was Schultz's perspective.

"I order you to join me in this escape!" Klink thumped the table with the fist not holding the money.

Schultz eyed him sadly. "In that case, Herr Colonel Klink, I feel it is my duty to inform Colonel Hogan and ask him to protect me."

"Don't you realize that would make you a traitor, a turncoat, a—a deserter from your own side?" Klink demanded, outraged.

"I am sorry, Colonel," Schultz said with finality. "I will not go with you on this escape. If you wish to go alone or take someone else, that is your choice and I will not interfere. But I will not take part in an escape which Colonel Hogan has forbidden, and you cannot send me to the Russian Front."

"Then you're a coward!" Klink repeated. "Very well, Schultz, I will teach Hogan a lesson on my own."

* * *

Author's note: The currency conversion is based on 1948 rates-during the war the Deutsche mark was not part of the Bretton Woods system of monetary exhange so I couldn't find an official rate.


	14. Roll Call

"That was an excellent meal, LeBeau," Hogan said with satisfaction as he pushed back his chair. The door crashed shut behind the men going out to organize the last roll call of the day.

"_Merci_, Colonel." LeBeau began to stack dirty plates, and Hogan picked up the empty soup tureen and followed him to the kitchen. As he pushed through the swinging door, he heard the corporal singing softly:

"_Je me souviens quand j'avais cinq ans_

_J'étais heureux de vivre à Paris._

_Dimanche, avec mes parents,_

_Aller au Jardin des Tuileries._

_C'était une jeunesse merveilleuse._

_Malheureusement, occupée par les Allemands,_

_Paris n'était plus mon Paris._

_Tout change dans la vie ..."_

"What's the song?" Hogan asked curiously. "I think I recognize the tune, but my high school French doesn't go as far as translating it all."

LeBeau dropped the silverware in the sink and took the tureen from Hogan. "It's 'The Last Time I Saw Paris'.

_I remember when I was five years old_

_I was happy living in Paris._

_Sundays, with my parents,_

_Going to the Tuileries Gardens._

_It was a marvelous youth._

_Unfortunately, occupied by the Germans,_

_Paris was not my Paris anymore._

_Everything changes in life_…"

Hogan sighed sympathetically. "Won't be long now. If we can just keep Major Hochstetter away—"

"Ready for roll call, Colonel Hogan!" Kinch hollered from the front room, interrupting his sentence.

"I'll be back to help with those dishes," Hogan volunteered as he strode out. He tugged his uniform cap straight and zipped his jacket all the way up before stepping out into the twilight.

The roll calls of German prisoners were very different from the roll calls of Allied prisoners. Uncertain and sullen, the Germans stood quietly in rows to be counted, with no need for diversions to cover escapes. No one called out mocking insults or shifted from place to place to be counted three times.

Colonel Klink insisted on trailing behind Olsen, Carter and Kinch as they counted the men, offering comments and advice that were largely ignored by both sides.

"Everyone's here, Colonel," Kinch reported to the man who was slouching against one of the porch posts, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Thanks Kinch. Before you dismiss them, I'm going to say a few words." Hogan stepped off the porch and made sure he was standing where Klink couldn't fail to hear. "It's come to my attention that some of you aren't sure if gambling is allowed or not."

An unintelligible murmur rose from the rows of prisoners. Klink screwed up his nose and scowled at Hogan.

"I want you all to know that I have not made any rule against it, and as long as no one causes trouble I don't see any reason why you shouldn't be allowed to play whatever games of cards or dice you want."

"But-but-but . . ." Klink protested, trying to gather his thoughts together.

"But," Hogan raised his voice even further. "No fleecing the Senior Officer, understand? I want you to leave poor Colonel Klink out of your games unless he specifically wants to play—don't look on him as a source of cash."

"We can't afford for him to gamble again," Kinch muttered under his breath so that only Hogan could hear.

"That's all, you're dismissed." Hogan gave a casual nod to the ranks.

To his utter surprise, nearly half of the assembled men came to attention and offered salutes, not the Nazi stiff arm, but proper military salutes. Klink stood by, suspiciously watching as Colonel Hogan, United States Army Air Corps, formally returned the salutes of a large contingent of German soldiers.

The gathering broke up and men headed back to the barracks. Langenscheidt audibly told Mittendorf, "I told you that Colonel Hogan could fix it!"

Klink didn't look happy at hearing the opinion of his corporals and hurried to intercept Hogan. "What did you mean by that, Hogan? Why did you tell the men not to gamble with me?"

"C'mon, Colonel!" Hogan winked cheerfully. "I'm trying to protect you! Don't forget I was the senior officer for a long time, and I know that enlisted men like to play cards. You wouldn't want to lose that bundle of cash I gave you earlier, now would you? You might need it someday."

"I might? Oh yes, of course . . . need it someday." Klink gave a nervous giggle. "Thank you, Hogan."

"You're welcome." Hogan didn't even bother dismissing him—Klink never remembered to salute anyway—and went back inside to fulfill his promise of washing dishes.

He found an anxious knot of men in the kitchen, discussing Klink's potential escape. Newkirk was declaring his opinion that both German officers would get as far away from Stalag 13 as possible as soon as Klink told Burkhalter who was in charge at the camp.

"No he won't," Hogan announced as he picked up Carter's abandoned dish towel.

"What's stopping them, Colonel?" Kinch asked. "You're not planning to depend on Klink's good sense to bring them back, are you?"

"If I waited for Klink's good sense it would happen when Siberia turns into a second Sahara." Hogan picked up another plate and thoughtfully rubbed it with the towel. "I need a couple of volunteers—thank you Newkirk and Carter—to stop them on the road south of camp."

"Why us?" Carter yelped at the same moment as Newkirk groaned, "I had a bad feeling about this from the beginning."

"You go out in disguise pretending to be Gestapo, and stop Klink's escape car. Then Burkhalter comes along and you drive them both back to camp in Klink's car. After you get back to camp you show them to my office, and they find out who's really running the place."

"Sir!" Newkirk spoke up with a hopeful air. "Ol' Klink is sure to recognize us."

Hogan chuckled. "By the time he's slipped out of camp in dark of night, found the car, and driven a few miles? He'll be a nervous wreck! He wouldn't even recognize his own mother under those circumstances."

"You know, he's got a point there," Carter agreed amiably. "Heck, I wouldn't recognize my mother in some of those disguises you wear, Newkirk."

Hogan waited for the groans to die down before he spoke again. "Send Burkhalter's driver back to Berlin as a decoy for Hochstetter to follow, and hopefully that will buy us enough time for the liberation to happen before Hochstetter gets back."

"I'll have Baker radio the tanks and tell them we're expecting a nasty Gestapo agent and would they please hurry up," Kinch volunteered dryly.

* * *

Author's Note: The French lyrics to the song 'The Last Time I Saw Paris' were written and sung by Robert Clary on his album 'Robert Clary Sings Ira Gershwin & Jerome Kern'.


	15. Promotion

I'd like to say a special Thank You! to Belphegor for the help with the French verses of the song in the last chapter. The help was greatly appreciated!

* * *

The first person that Hogan talked to after roll call the next morning was Sergeant Schultz. The enormous ex-guard was uneasy when he followed Hogan into the commandant's office, but he relaxed when the colonel offered him a chair and a cup of very weak coffee.

"I know this might sound strange, Schultz, but I have a favor to ask you," Hogan began.

Schultz carefully set down his cup. "What can I do for you, Herr Kommandant Hogan?"

"We need a couple of German uniforms for a little job south of here, and we were wondering if you could borrow them from the prisoners for us. See, we used all ours up on the last group we sent out."

"Colonel Hogan, I see nothing, I know nothing!" Schultz responded out of habit, shocked enough to forget that Hogan was officially in command.

"I know, Schultz, I know," Hogan said reassuringly. "You've done very well at it too. Tell me, has Klink mentioned any ideas for an escape plan?"

"How did you find out?" Schultz asked before he thought. "You were not supposed to—grrr! I hear nothing, I see nothing!"

"So he did tell you about it. Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to tattle on your commanding officer. But we've heard that Major Hochstetter is in the area, and we need the uniforms to help keep Klink out of trouble."

Schultz nodded knowingly. "Ooohh, Major Hochstetter can be a lot of trouble. I will see what I can do about uniforms, but please do not tell Colonel Klink that you know about his plan to escape tonight. He would be very angry at me."

"I won't tell him," Hogan promised.

There was a sound of a disturbance outside the office, and in a few seconds Klink barged through the door. "Schultz, what are you doing here?" he demanded.

Schultz heaved himself to his feet. "I was—I was . . ."

"Never mind!" Klink pulled off his uniform cap and tossed it carelessly onto the desk in an obvious imitation of his former prisoner's manner. Unfortunately Hogan kept no personal belongings on the desk for the cap to land on, but the gesture still brought a smug look to Klink's face.

Hogan glanced at the cap and a smile twitched his mouth. "Welcome to my office, Colonel Klink. I'm always glad to make time for you," he said politely and with no sarcasm in his voice. "Did you need to see me about something, or was it Schultz you wanted?"

"Regulations state that the senior officer must be present for all contact that prisoners have with the Kommandant," Klink spouted.

"Whose regulations? Is this camp running under German rules or American rules?" Hogan retorted. "That's all, Schultz, you can go."

"_Danke_." Schultz left with the air of a man escaping a difficult situation.

"Well, Stalag 13 is in Germany, and it did very well for several years under German regulations," Klink defended, and then realized that he had followed Hogan's red herring. "Never mind that now, Hogan! I want to know what Schultz was doing here."

"I felt sorry for him," Hogan declared. "It's hard enough for us regular-sized fellas to survive on the little food we have left, but imagine how hard it must be for Schultz. He's three times our size! So I offered him a little coffee. Was that all you wanted?"

Klink shifted uneasily and didn't meet Hogan's eyes. "Actually, I wanted to make a request. I'd like the evening roll call right before dinner instead of after."

"Why?" Hogan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms comfortably. "I don't hear any of the men complaining about their digestions, so don't think that you can pull that one on me."

"Well, I, well . . ." Klink stammered. "I wanted to get an early night. I haven't been sleeping well on that dreadful wooden bunk, you see, and my back has been aching all day."

Hogan's eyes flicked toward the ceiling. "I slept on that bunk for years, and it hasn't killed me yet. You—just a minute." He looked at his watch, lips moving as he silently counted something. "I don't see why I should move the roll calls to before dinner, but out of consideration for your back I'll tell LeBeau to have the meal ready half an hour earlier."

"Thank you, Hogan." Klink offered a hasty salute and left with the most spring in his step that Hogan had seen since the takeover.

With an amused shake of his head, Hogan picked up the telephone to buzz the outer office. "I need the guys in here—"

There was the sound of heavy feet outside, and over the telephone he heard Carter's voice. "We gotta talk to Colonel Hogan right away!"

"Come in, Carter!" Hogan raised his voice to be heard through the door and hung up the telephone as the men piled into the office. "You guys have great timing. I was just calling you. What's got everyone so excited?

Everyone spoke at once. "You're a General!" Carter blurted.

"Baker heard from London!" LeBeau was bouncing on tiptoes.

Kinch's face was split with a grin. "The Allied forces are almost here!"

"The flippin' radio's conked out again," Newkirk complained.

"Hold it, hold it!" Hogan got to his feet and held up one hand. "One at a time! Now what's going on, Kinch?"

The second in command took a deep breath. "Baker got a radio message from London. It was kinda broken up, and the radio cut out before they finished, but he got the gist of the message." He pulled a small piece of blue paper from his pocket. "They said that the Allied forces have won a battle and are advancing in this direction to possibly arrive by tomorrow night. And just before the transmission ended they said that Col Hogan has a promotion waiting and he'll retire on a general's pay."

"Boy, won't Klink be mad that you beat him to the stars!" Carter added irrepressibly.

"Tomorrow night, huh?" Hogan wore a grin as he began to pace back and forth with his thumbs hooked in his jacket pockets. "Too bad they won't show up before Klink's little caper tonight."

The men gaped at him. "Aren't you even excited about the promotion, sir?" Newkirk demanded.

"Sure I am." Hogan stopped pacing. "But I'm not going to take it."

"Not going to take it!" All four spoke in unison. LeBeau and Carter were even in harmony.

"You heard me. I don't want the stars."


	16. Uniforms

"For Pete's sakes why not, Colonel—I mean, General?" Bewildered, Carter hastily corrected his form of address.

"It's still Colonel, Carter." Hogan dropped back into the chair and tipped it back on two legs, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Didn't you hear what Kinch read out? "Retire on a general's pay." Well, I'm not ready to retire yet, and I'll tell that to the brass when I get out of here."

Newkirk snapped his fingers. "And here I was gettin' all excited about servin' under a general," he said jokingly.

"Now is as good a time to say this as any." Hogan smiled briefly at the Englishman's words, but his tone was all business. "If any of you guys want to stay in the military, you've got promotions. I'll pull every single string there is to get you whatever ranks you want in whatever army."

"_Merci bien_, Colonel, but I am going home," LeBeau said a trifle wistfully.

"Yeah, so am I," Carter put in. "Not that I don't appreciate it, sir, but I don't think I'd like to stay in the army."

"I don't think the army would like to have you stay in it," Newkirk told him wryly. "No offense, Andrew, but most soldiers object to being blown up on a regular basis."

Carter frowned indignantly. "That's not fair, Newkirk! When was the last time I blew you up?"

"Not for lack of trying!"

"Pipe down, fellas," Hogan intervened before the squabble could continue. "With this escapade of Klink's looming tonight, I don't think we should let the word get out that we're expecting the liberation. Keep it under your hats, okay?"

"That means, don't tell Schultz," Kinch interpreted.

"Right. In fact, I don't want anyone else in camp to know about it. There'll be time enough to get excited when we have Burkhalter safely inside and Major Hochstetter decoyed to Berlin. Oh, that reminds me, LeBeau. I told Klink we'd have dinner half an hour earlier so his escape isn't pressed for time."

Kinch frowned skeptically. "Colonel Hogan, you didn't tell him that?"

"Of course not! I pretended to be as stupid as Klink himself, completely taken in by his excuse of a bad back. You know, he's got to be the worst senior P.O.W officer in the history of prison camps."

"Do you think he'll be okay with his escape tonight?" Carter asked. "You know he can panic under pressure."

"He has to be." Hogan ran his fingers through his hair and put his cap back on crooked. "We can't have a fight here right before the liberation. You guys better make sure everything's set for tonight. I've got Schultz scrounging uniforms for you both."

As the men filed out, Kinch hung back. "Colonel Hogan . . . this decision to stay in the military wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that I'm filling in for a certain secretary who didn't show up this morning, would it?"

Hogan eyed his second-in-command with a twisted smile. "You know Kinch, sometimes you're too observant for your own good. She's looking after some neighbors who lost everything in the last bombing raids—one is a crippled old lady and the other is a seventeen year old widow with a baby." He sighed. "After spending so long blowing this country apart piece by piece I'd like a chance to try and help put it back together again."

* * *

With Colonel Klink sequestered in his office and able to hear what went on in the barracks, Schultz picked the recreation hall to talk to his men. The two corporals Langenscheidt and Mittendorf were chatting together with one of the former prisoners' Bing Crosby records playing softly in the background, but they both stood to attention when Schultz approached.

"Sit down, both of you." Schultz claimed a seat on the other side of the table and leaned forward conspiratorially. "You are both grateful to Colonel Hogan, is that not right?"

They exchanged glances. "Colonel Hogan has been very generous in his time as senior officer and then Kommandant," Mittendorf agreed with considerable caution.

"Now you boys know that I have always tried to do my best for both sides, and even though Colonel Klink can be most unpleasant I do not want to see any harm come to him."

"Who is going to harm him?" Langenscheidt asked. "Is Captain Gruber going to poison his sauerkraut?"

"No, no, no—although that is not such a bad idea," Schultz considered the matter for a moment. "Do not tell this to anyone else, but Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo is causing trouble, and Colonel Hogan wants to borrow two of our uniforms."

"Why?" Langenscheidt frowned.

"He is going to get rid of the major," Schultz rolled his 'r' emphatically. "I do not know how—I do not want to know how—but I would like to know if you can spare uniforms just for tonight."

The two looked at each other again for a long moment, and then Langenscheidt nodded. "We will bring them to Colonel Hogan's office."

* * *

There was a slightly secretive air about the two men who climbed the steps to the commandant's office. Kinch saw them out the window and moved to open the door for them. "You guys look like you're on some kind of mission," he said lightly.

"We have the uniforms," Mittendorf explained as he unbuttoned his tunic to reveal a folded garment wrapped around his torso.

Langenscheidt followed his example. "_Ja_, we did not wish for anyone to see that we bring them. Sergeant Schultz told us to keep it a secret."

"I understand. Thanks, fellas. You're a big help." Kinch examined the outfits, which were worn and patched but would not stand out from a thousand other German soldiers' clothing.

Mittendorf shifted from one foot to the other as though he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words. "Is Colonel Klink going to be in trouble?" he finally asked.

"Well, Hochstetter can be kinda rough, and we don't want a big fight here at camp. Someone might get hurt. That's why we needed the uniforms," Kinch explained.

"_Nein, nein_." Langenscheidt shook his head, almost as uncomfortable as his friend. "Will Kommandant Hogan be very angry at Colonel Klink? We know he wants to escape. That is why we took his money away in the dice game."

"We do not want him to make a problem for Kommandant Hogan," Mittendorf finished. "We know that anyone who makes trouble for Kommandant Hogan is _kaput_." His hand made a chopping motion across this throat for emphasis.

"Wait a minute. You guys deliberately cleaned Klink out?"

"Cleaned . . . out?" Langenscheidt floundered in the Americanism.

"Took his money," Kinch clarified. "That was why you had Colonel Hogan give permission for gambling? You were trying to help Klink?"

Mittendorf said something in German, and Langenscheidt translated for him. "Kommandant Hogan is a good officer, and we do not want him to have Colonel Klink—how do you Americans say, on his hands?"

"I get the picture," Kinch said. "Thanks again for the uniforms."

Both Germans saluted him, and he hid his surprise long enough to return the gesture and see them out the door.


	17. Pitchfork

A huge thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed, and my apologies for taking so long to get this chapter up. It's been a crazy few weeks!

* * *

Hogan looked the two 'Germans' over with a critical eye. "Newkirk, your mustache is crooked."

The Englishman looked in the ornate mirror on the wall and made an adjustment to his facial features. "If I was really in the Kraut army under that loony Hitler bloke, my hand would be shakin' so much I'd shave it crooked anyway. What do you think, Kinch?"

"You look good enough to shoot," Kinch teased. "Colonel, I had a radio message from Burkhalter to say he's on his way, and I told him where to meet the phony guards. It sounds like he's been going around in circles trying to avoid the Gestapo."

"Good." Hogan crossed his arms. "Carter, Newkirk, if anything goes wrong with Hochstetter, don't try to make it back to camp. Get behind the American lines and let them know what's going on down here."

"Yes sir," Carter said a little doubtfully.

"Colonel, you don't think we'd scarper off and leave you blokes, do you?" Newkirk's tone was indignant enough that most officers would have taken instant offense.

Hogan just nodded. "It's an order, Newkirk."

"Right sir."

The two men checked their weapons and walkie-talkies and left by way of the front gate. Hogan watched them leave from the window of his quarters.

* * *

Schultz lay huddled on his bunk under a blanket that was almost large enough to cover his frame, the teddy bear from the prisoners on the bunk beside him.

"Sergeant Schultz?" Langenscheidt entered the barracks. "Is something wrong? You never go to bed right after roll call."

The sergeant squeezed his eyes closed. "If I am asleep, no one can ask me to get involved in something that I want to know nothing about—nothing!"

"I understand." Langenscheidt sat down on his own bunk, pulled off his boots, and lay back. "Sergeant? Do you have a teddy bear?"

"Yes I do," Schultz retorted defensively, opening his eyes again. "It is from the prisoners—I mean, the former prisoners. I keep it with me to remind me that there are some good men in this war."

The door to the office rattled, and both men hastily shut their eyes to feign sleep. Had they been looking, they would have seen Colonel Klink, bag in hand, pause to give them both a disgusted glare before he slunk out of the barracks.

Schultz cautiously opened one eye and then the other with a sigh of relief. "I thought he was going to order me to go with him. Did you get the uniforms to Colonel Hogan?"

"Yes we did." Langenscheidt sat up. "But I don't see how they will help keep Major Hochstetter away."

"Langenscheidt," Schultz shook his head knowingly. "When it comes to Colonel Hogan, you are much better to do like me and know nothing. It always comes out all right in the end."

* * *

The checkpoint appeared deserted as they approached. No military vehicles were in sight, and no sound came from the small, striped building.

The two men exchanged glances, and then Newkirk cupped his hands around his mouth. "_Achtung_!" he bawled.

A grizzled, gray head popped out.

Carter jumped. "He looks way too old to be in the army!" he whispered.

As the rest of the man became visible, they saw the rough woolen clothing of a civilian farmer instead of a uniform. A scowl seemed permanently etched in the wrinkled face.

"We are a patrol from Stalag 13 assigned to this post," Newkirk used his gravelly 'Gestapo' voice. "And just who are you, _mein Herr_?"

"Dietrich Dieffenbach," the farmer retorted. "I found this checkpoint deserted, so I stayed to guard it. We must all do our part in these uncertain times."

"Just one man, unarmed?" Carter asked wonderingly.

"Nein! I have company," Dieffenbach announced, reaching back into the hut and brandishing a pitchfork with one experienced hand.

"Holy cats!" Carter said under his breath at the same time as Newkirk mumbled, "Blimey."

"You must not think that it is not effective," Herr Dieffenbach evidently mistook their expressions. "I once recaptured a group of Allied prisoners of war with just this for a weapon. Although . . ." he paused to shake his head and chuckle. "They were not too difficult to handle, especially the officer."

"Well . . ." Newkirk fumbled for something to reply. "Germany should be congratulated on having men like you to defend her . . . with their pitchforks, _ja_?"

Herr Dieffenbach lowered his weapon and gestured for them to lean closer. "To tell the truth, I do not know why the Allies are winning the war with men like that Crittendon on their side."

"Crittendon!" Carter yelped. "I—I mean, I remember him from Stalag 13. You are correct, he is a very stupid officer. Still, you did not know he was stupid when you captured him, so your glorious deed on behalf of the Fatherland is very noble. Now we must take control of the post. We have word that some very dangerous spies will be travelling this road."

"We do not want you to be hurt in the shooting," Newkirk added.

As Herr Dieffenbach 'Heil Hitler'ed himself away from the post, both men heaved sighs of relief. "Boy, who would have thought we'd run into him!" Carter shook his head.

"I got a score to settle with that ol' geezer," Newkirk scowled. "He's the one what's responsible for Colonel Crittendon windin' up back at camp that time. Though I do wonder myself how we can be winning with Crittendon on our side."

"Don't forget, Newkirk, the Germans have Klink on their side," Carter reminded.

"It's a crazy war."

The conversation was cut short by the sound of a car approaching. Carter glanced at his watch. "If that's Burkhalter, he's early. Klink isn't even here yet!"


	18. Checkpoint

LeBeau let the door bang shut behind him as he hurried into the commandant's quarters. "Colonel? Klink has just cut through the wire."

"Just now?" Hogan demanded, pausing in his pacing to glance at his wristwatch. "He was supposed to leave right after roll call! Doesn't he know we've got a schedule to keep?"

The corporal shrugged. "I guess it took him a while to gather his courage."

Hogan's only reply was a snort as he went back to pacing.

The shrill sound of the telephone made them jump, and in the sitting room Kinch answered it before it could reach the third ring. "_Ja_?" His eyebrows raised, and he held the instrument out. "For you, Colonel. It's Hilda."

In three long strides Hogan reached Kinch's side and grabbed the phone. "Hilda? It's me. What's happened? . . . the Burgermeister? Can he be trusted? . . . You didn't let him see you, did you? . . . Good. Don't worry, everything's under control. Klink is on his way to rescue Burkhalter . . . yes, I said Klink. He just doesn't know that that's what he's doing . . . don't worry about Hochstetter. Thanks for letting me know . . . Be careful, honey . . . Of course I will."

He dropped the phone back into its cradle. "Hochstetter's been in Hamilburg looking for Burkhalter. Hilda called from the Burgermeister's phone to let me know that Hochstetter picked up the trail and left town."

"That could mean trouble, Colonel. Want me to radio Carter and Newkirk?" Kinch offered.

"No. We can't risk Hochstetter overhearing any transmissions if he's that close already."

* * *

The strands of barbed wire fell back one by one as Colonel Klink wrestled with the wire cutters. By the time he reached the last one his hands, unused to such work, were beginning to slip on the handles and he had to brace his knee against his wrist for leverage.

The strand made a slight popping sound and both ends sprang back and wrapped themselves into the folds of his coat. He tried several time to extricate himself, but this only served to entangle him in the other loose wires that he had already cut.

Klink turned his attention to cutting the wires close to where they fastened onto him. When he finished he looked as though he had tried to build a wire ghillie suit.

Max the fruit seller was waiting with the car, his ever-present scowl deeper than ever. "You're late," he snapped. "Did you bring the money?"

"It's here somewhere," Klink moaned, plunging his hand into his coat pocket and then jerking it back with a yelp as it encountered a hidden barb. Another tentative attempt produced the roll of bills that Hogan had given him, along with the wire cutters that he had dropped into the same pocket. "It was these terrible wire cutters. I found them in the barracks—probably from one of Hogan's unsuccessful escape attempts. You know, we Germans build much better wire cutters than that."

The elderly man took the tool and money with an expression that bordered on a sneer. "The wire cutters were made in Germany."

"Oh! Well, then . . . in that case . . ." Klink watched Max count the money.

" . . . _Dreihundertfünfzig . . . Vierhundert . . . Fünfhundert Amerikanische Dollars_!" Max declared triumphantly and handed over the keys to the car. Klink snatched them without so much as a single "_Danke_". "You must be sure to take the south road . . . unless you have a fondness for enemy soldiers and their guns."

* * *

The military-gray vehicle screeched to a stop inches from Carter's upraised sign and disgorged the rotund figure of General Albert Burkhalter, complete with bulging briefcase and worried face. "You are the men from Stalag 13?" he demanded.

Newkirk nodded. "_Ja wohl, General_!"

"_Gut! Schmidt, gehen! Raus_!" Burkhalter ordered. The driver of the car threw the vehicle back into gear, spattering them all with grime as he drove away. "Where is the car to take me back to Stalag 13?"

"I regret to inform you, General . . ." Carter squared his shoulders with the air of someone bracing for an outburst. "Colonel Klink wished to meet you himself with the car, but he has unfortunately been delayed. I am sure he will be here soon, though!"

"Why did Klink have to involve himself in this?" Burkhalter groaned. "Why couldn't that sensible young soldier who took my phone call have come instead? Are you men from Stalag 13?"

"_Ja_," Carter began. "But, Herr General—"

The general cut him off. "There was a sergeant who took my message, a sensible man, who I would like to transfer to my staff. Do you know him?"

"You mean Sergeant, eh, Kinchmeyer?" Newkirk asked. "He is a very good man, Herr General, but he is a personal favorite of the commandant of Stalag 13, and I do not think that the Commandant will allow his transfer."

"In case you are not aware, I am the General!" Burkhalter snapped. "Klink is only a Colonel, and when I give orders I expect them to be obeyed! Do you hear me?" His voice crescendoed shrilly until he was shouting into their faces.

Carter leaned backward away from the onslaught. "Perhaps the General would like to step into the checkpoint building?" he suggested tentatively.

"I would not like to step anywhere! Why should I step anywhere?"

"Because there's a car coming, and I'm afraid it might be Major Hochstetter." His sentence lapsed from his prim 'Gestapo' image to his usual innocent-faced self, but his words struck such terror into Burkhalter that the General didn't notice. With more speed than seemed possible for a man of his diameter he dove into the striped building.

Swastika flags flapping, the black car came to a halt in front of the two men. Major Hochstetter scrambled out, his uniform crumpled and what little hair he possessed in disarray. His eyes were bloodshot, as though he was short of sleep.

"_Guten Abend_, Major," Newkirk greeted him politely. "What brings you this way?"

"It is not a good evening, and I am—what is that?" Hochstetter's gaze focused on the checkpoint hut, where the toe of Burkhalter's boot was visible in the opening.

"Oh, that's just the lieutenant!" Carter blurted out. "He's not doing any harm, just taking a bit of a break, you might say."

"I would not say anything of the sort! Let me past immediately!" Hochstetter ordered.

Newkirk remained firmly in his path and lowered his voice confidentially. "Do you know what happened to the last man who interrupted Lieutenant Hitler when he was recovering from too much schnapps?"

"Did you say Lieutenant Hitler?"

"Ja, a distant cousin only. They say that he shot two captains and a major before he sobered up," Newkirk leaned closer as though trying to keep the hut occupant from hearing. "Of course, you are welcome to try and get close enough to speak to him, but he might like to make his bag of ranks even. After all, you are a Gestapo major and he is short one major's head for his collection."

"Never mind!" Hochstetter took a hasty step back. "Tell me, have you seen General Burkhalter's car go by this way?"

"Only a few minutes ago," Carter said. "It took the road back to Berlin."

"_Danke_, that is what I wanted to know!" Hochstetter jumped back into the car and slammed the door.

As the car disappeared back the way it had come, Burkhalter emerged from the checkpoint building. "You did well," he admitted with a sigh. "Now where is that _dummkopf_ Klink?"


	19. Late

"You know, there's just one thing I'd like to know." Klink held up the car keys and stared at them thoughtfully. "It was so easy for me to escape from Stalag 13. Now why didn't Hogan and his men manage just one escape in the years they were prisoners?"

"I think you should leave," Max hinted broadly.

Colonel Klink continued to examine the keys with his monocled eye. "Do you think it was because they were in a foreign country, surrounded by an unfamiliar language, with no hope of help from the locals?"

"I don't know." The fruit seller shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his worn coat.

"Perhaps . . ." He lost interest in the keys, and began to polish his monocle with the corner of his coat. "I suppose it could be because I always treated them with such fairness and generosity that they felt no desire to escape."

Max pulled out his old pocket watch with an impatient gesture. "Colonel Klink, it is time for you to go."

"Of course, it could be that they were so cowed by my no-escape reputation that they didn't even try," Klink replaced the smeared monocle in his eye and squinted through it. "Naturally Hogan doesn't have my record as Kommandant, so there was no need for me to be afraid of making an escape from under his command."

The pocket watch closed with an emphatic click. "Colonel Klink, did I tell you that Major Hochstetter is in Hamilburg asking questions?"

"Major Hochstetter?" Klink dropped the keys, and when he bent over to retrieve them he lost his monocle. "You should have told me at once! I need to go before he finds me!"

The car sputtered to life as Max smirked. "I thought that would work," he told the vehicle's disappearing tail lights.

* * *

Newkirk and Carter found themselves clearly illuminated in the light from the head lamps of the approaching car as they stood in the middle of the road.

"Can you believe that guy?" Carter hissed under cover of the engine noise. "I thought there was a blackout on!"

"Maybe they didn't have blackouts in the last war," Newkirk replied. "I think that's the war he's still fighting. Halt!"

The car window lowered and Klink's nervous face peered out. "What is—General Burkhalter?"

"Yes, it is me, _Corporal_ Klink!" Burkhalter stomped over to the car and jerked open the door to the back seat. "Do you have any idea how long I have been standing here waiting for you—don't talk back to me like that!"

Cut off in mid-jaw-drop, Klink could only stare at him.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Get out from behind that wheel and let this man drive!" The general settled his bulk into the rear seat. "If there's one thing worse than sitting next to you for the trip back, it would be having you drive and get us lost!"

Klink meekly changed seats, too occupied with trying to understand what was going on to look closely at the 'checkpoint guards'. Carter made a twisting movement to the bottom of his Stop sign and tossed it underhanded into the striped building, and then he and Newkirk dove into the car.

Tires screeched as Newkirk stomped the accelerator. The car was barely out of sight of the checkpoint when an explosion lit up the night sky.

"Wh-what was that?' Klink quavered, instinctively shrinking closer to the general before an elbow sank into his ribs.

"Probably the Allied advance," Burkhalter said shortly. "Thanks to you, we might not make it back to Stalag 13."

"Back to Stalag 13? But-but-but—"

"No buts! Is that any way to treat your superior officer—leaving him stranded on the roadside?" Burkhalter was at full volume.

"Please believe me, General, I had no idea you were planning to travel with me."

"You wouldn't try and put the blame on that intelligent, loyal sergeant at the desk, would you? Of course you would! It's exactly the kind of stunt you would try to pull! Now if I hear one more word from you I'll turn this car around and drive you straight to the Russian lines. And leave you there!"

"I—"

"Shut up, Klink!"

* * *

Kinch pushed the office door open without knocking and stuck his head in. "Colonel Hogan, the guys at the main gate just called to say that the car's coming up the road. They'll be here any minute now."

"Thanks, Kinch." Hogan set down his empty coffee mug and stood. "Guess I better go greet our guests."

"You know Burkhalter's gonna be pretty mad when he finds out what's going on here," Kinch warned. "Not to mention what Klink's going to say about winding up back here."

Hogan grinned. "The German prisoners will probably be disappointed to get Klink back. And hey, Burkhalter can't do much. Don't forget I haven't declined that promotion yet, so I can meet him with equal rank. He doesn't have to know it's not for keeps."

"I don't think I'll take him up on that offer to transfer to his staff." Kinch's teeth flashed white in his own smile.

"If my general's stars came with the opportunity to stay in the military and pick my own staff . . . but I don't think they'd let me have you transferred. There'll be a dozen places they'll want you to be."

Kinch twitched one eyebrow upwards. "I'm planning on being around for a while yet, and you won't find me complaining if I wind up with a transfer to your command."

"Thanks." Hogan had no time to say more before a vehicle pulled up outside. "Let's go."

Still dressed in their borrowed German uniforms, Carter and Newkirk jumped out of the car and slipped into the shadows. Hogan saw Carter's 'okay' sign and gave a nod in return, dismissing them to change clothing, and then turned to greet the new arrival.


	20. Office of the Commandant

"Welcome to Stalag 13, General!" The voice was bold and cheerful and could only belong to one particular American officer. Hogan stood on the porch, thumbs in his jacket pockets and his cap shoved back.

"What is going on here?" Burkhalter exploded.

"General Burkhalter, please believe me that I had nothing to do with this," Klink groveled as he clambered out of the vehicle.

The general's face resembled an overripe tomato. "I told you to be quiet! What are you doing out of your barracks, Hogan?"

"General, would you step into the office? We have something to discuss. You too, Colonel Klink," Hogan requested politely, and strode inside before they could question him.

Burkhalter stomped after him with a force that rattled the porch. The deflated Colonel Klink trailed after them, mumbling excuses which everyone ignored.

Once in the office Hogan wasted no time in explaining. "As of several days ago, Stalag 13 is under Allied control. Colonel Klink has formally surrendered to me, and my men have taken over command of the camp."

Burkhalter shot a look of pure menace at his underling. "I might have known. What were you doing out tonight, Klink? Escaping?"

"Well—well . . ." Klink stammered, realizing the repercussions that were likely to come his way.

"Actually, Colonel Klink acted exactly as we had planned after we received your phone call, sir," Hogan intervened, so accustomed to saving Klink's hide with the general that he did it without thinking.

"Oh? Who did take my phone call?" Burkhalter demanded.

"That would be my second-in-command, Sergeant Kinchloe. Hey Kinch!" Hogan raised his voice.

The door opened a crack. "Yes sir?"

"Do you have that surrender statement for the general to sign?"

"Right here." Kinch entered the office and handed a paper to Burkhalter. "I won't be needing that transfer to your staff, sir."

Burkhalter's beady eyes narrowed. "You're the man on the telephone? Berlin would have us all shot if they heard about that." He began to read the document. "There is some mistake here."

"What kind of mistake?" Hogan nodded dismissal to Kinch.

"It lists your rank as General instead of Colonel."

"Let me see that!" Klink impulsively snatched the paper before realizing with horror what he had done. Meekly he extended it, hand shaking. "Hogan, why didn't you tell me about this?"

"You didn't ask me," Hogan replied. "I only just heard about the promotion, and I thought that General Burkhalter here might be more comfortable surrendering to someone of equal rank . . . for the time being."

Burkhalter threw the paper down on the desk. "I suppose I have no choice but to sign. Where's a pen?"

"Here you go." Hogan handed him a pen and watched while he scrawled his name. "Now it's getting late and we could all use a good night's sleep."

"I suppose you've occupied my usual quarters?" Burkhalter said snappishly. "Never mind. I'll take the senior officer's quarters."

Klink's face collapsed as he realized what the general's arrival would mean to his own position. His shoulders slumped, crumpling his already disheveled uniform even more.

"Sorry, General," Hogan said firmly. "Colonel Klink will continue to perform the duties of senior officer."

"What!" Burkhalter exploded, sending a glare in the direction of the least forceful person in the room. "You can't do that!"

"Yes I can. You may occupy Barracks 11—it's empty—or sleep in the barracks with the enlisted men."

"I'll take Barrack 11," Burkhalter huffed, and marched out of the office without saluting.

"You're dismissed!" Hogan called to his back, but the general didn't pause.

"I can't believe you got a promotion," Klink whined. "It isn't fair. I was Kommandant here for years and never made general. Why should you get it after only a few days?"

Hogan rolled his eyes. "It's been in the works for a while, but I only just found out about it. I'm not going to accept the promotion, you know. I'm planning to keep my eagles, for reasons that you probably wouldn't understand. Now it's very late and I'd like to get some sleep, okay? We can talk about your escape in the morning."

Klink hesitated by the door, his mouth opening and closing as though he wanted to speak. "Hogan . . . what . . . why did you say that to the general about my being senior officer?"

Hogan tilted back in the chair and looked the former Kommandant squarely in the monocle. "When you were in charge here, and I was a prisoner, more than once you brought in higher-ranked officers to take my place. To reduce my position and my influence."

"But—but—but . . ."

"I don't stoop to that."

* * *

"Now they are coming out of the office . . . General Burkhalter is angry, he is frowning, he is going across the camp . . . the general is going into Barrack 11," he reported from his observation post to the waiting men. "Here comes the Kommandant—I mean, Colonel Klink . . . he is coming this way!" Schultz barely had time to hurry back to his bunk and pull his blanket over himself before the door of Barracks 2 swung open.

Colonel Klink didn't seem to notice that the door was left ajar as he entered, head down and shoulders drooping. Schultz watched him out of one eye while the other eye remained scrunched closed, so he knew the moment that Klink looked at him and realized that he was being observed.

"You know, Schultz, you're terrible at pretending to be asleep," Klink said irritably, tossing his riding crop through the open door of his quarters.

The sergeant sat up. "Did you have a nice escape, Herr Colonel Klink?"

"No I did not have a nice escape! General Burkhalter showed up and spoiled the whole thing. And to make things worse, Hogan is marching around here claiming that he's been promoted to general."

"That is very nice for him," Schultz said approvingly. "Colonel Hogan will make a good general. Maybe General Burkhalter will give you a promotion since you brought him here to Stalag 13?"

"I didn't bring him, he—ye-es . . ." Klink drew out the last word. "Hogan did say that I acted according to plan! Of course, I see now, they couldn't have done it without me!" His chest began to puff out and he adjusted his monocle with a practiced gesture. "General Burkhalter should be grateful to me for rescuing him from Major Hochstetter! I think I will tell him so in the morning."


	21. Liberation

The morning dawned crisp and bright, clouds parting to reveal sunshine that had been long-missed. Colonel Hogan leaned against the wall of the Commandant's office and watched the orderly roll call with a satisfied smile on his face and his cap pulled low over his eyes.

"Everyone's here, sir," Carter reported to him. "Even General Burkhalter, although he's complaining about getting up early after his late night."

"Doesn't surprise me." Hogan frowned as he saw something on the other side of the yard. "What's Klink up to? He always gets that look when he causes trouble for someone."

"Well, as soon as roll call was finished he told Burkhalter that they needed to talk. Burkhalter asked if it could wait until after he brushed his teeth, and Klink told him it was urgent. You don't suppose they're cooking up another escape?" Carter asked.

"I don't know. Go tell Klink I want to see him inside."

"Yes sir." Carter headed across the yard toward the two Germans.

"General Burkhalter, you don't seem to understand," Klink was saying in a pleading tone, ignoring the presence of the American soldier. "I have worked tirelessly—given the best years of my life—to maintain the perfect record of Stalag 13! Should my contribution to the war effort be overlooked merely because we happen to lose?"

"Sir—" Carter tried to get his attention.

"Because we happen to lose?" General Burkhalter echoed indignantly. "You are one of the biggest reasons we lost this war!"

"Colonel Klink—"

"What do you want?" Klink demanded, spinning around to face Carter.

"Colonel Hogan would like to see you in his office, sir," Carter told him politely.

"Good. Maybe I can get my teeth brushed and my hair combed." The general turned on his heel and marched toward the barracks where he had taken up solitary residence.

"Did he say what he wants?" Klink asked.

The sergeant shook his head. "He just said to tell you that he wants to see you inside."

Carter left Klink on the porch outside the office and headed back across the camp, leaving the colonel to enter alone. With a deep breath and a squaring of his shoulders, he pushed open the door and assumed a confident expression.

Hilda didn't look up from her writing. "Colonel Hogan is waiting."

Klink paused beside the desk. "Hilda, why did you stay on here after Hogan and his men took over?"

"You asked me to, Herr Kommandant," she replied. She finished the sentence she was writing and pulled another sheet of paper toward herself.

"Do you know what Hogan wants?" he tried.

"I'm sorry, I don't." Her head lifted and she smiled at something past his shoulder, and Klink turned to see Hogan standing in the office doorway.

"I wanted to talk to you about your escape attempt last night."

Klink pushed past him into the office and stood staring at the map hanging behind the desk, a picture of defiance that would crumble at a touch. "I only did my duty as a German soldier."

"After surrendering?" Hogan moved behind the desk and dropped his cap on top of the empty cigar box. "Come off it, Klink, we both know that wasn't the reason."

"Colonel Hogan!" Klink drew himself up. "Are you suggesting that I made my escape for reasons other than the honor—" his chest puffed out "—and the military decorum expected of a soldier on the battlefield—"

"We're not on the battlefield, Klink, we're in a P.O.W. camp." Tired of his opponent's posturing, Hogan dropped down into the chair. "You hoped to show me up and give me the escape you never had under your command. I could order you to spend time in the cooler for that."

Klink deflated like the tires on his staff car after the men finished 'repairing' them.

"But I won't. I think you've learned your lesson."

"Thank you." Klink said the unaccustomed words like a child resisting his vegetables.

* * *

"Why aren't you digging?" Major Hochstetter tried to maintain his usual shriek, but his voice was hoarse after a night spent scolding his driver.

The uniformed driver lifted his head from its drooping position. "Herr Major, we have been digging for two hours and the car is still stuck. I think we should walk back to the road and try to get a ride."

"You are not here to think!" Hochstetter snapped. "I never should have sent Corporal Rahm to the Russian front. He would never have driven off the road and into a mud hole."

"He is getting closer to being back every day," the driver mumbled under his breath, then set to work on the rear tire again.

The sound of a vehicle crashing through undergrowth further up the road made them both spin around. "Wait here. I will investigate," Major Hochstetter ordered curtly, trying to brush the worst of the mud from his coat.

He tramped up the slope, pausing behind a tree when laughter and voices drifted down to him. Someone was singing 'Deep In The Heart of Texas' in a warbling tenor.

Hochstetter peered around the tree trunk. A jeep full of American soldiers had come to grief on the slick road, and the men were alternating between trying to push it out and abusing the driver who was singing. "You ain't Bing Crosby, Mercer, so shut your mouth and drive that sucker!" a mud-splashed soldier shouted.

"You may be witnessing the early career of the next big hit in show business!" the singer called back. "As soon as this war is over—what was that?"

The Gestapo major ducked away from the tree and headed back down the hill, but behind him he heard the singer shout, "I'm sure I saw someone over there. Hey!"

Hochstetter slid, regained his footing, and kept moving.

"You there! Halt or I shoot!"

* * *

"Colonel! Colonel!" LeBeau was shouting at the top of his lungs as he barged into the office, an apron still tied around his waist from his supper preparations. "Kinch says the tanks are coming! They are flying the American flag!"

Hogan grabbed the Frenchman by both shoulders to steady him. "Easy, LeBeau! Is he sure?"

Boots clattered outside, and Newkirk's face appeared in the open door. "American tanks, Colonel." He tried to speak nonchalantly, but he couldn't completely conceal his excitement.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Hogan flipped his cap onto his head and followed them out onto the porch to join Carter and Kinch.

Prisoners and guards were gathering in the evening sunshine, watching the road that led to the camp. Hogan walked out into the yard with his men beside him.

His left arm draped affectionately over LeBeau's shoulders, a man who had witnessed his beloved country overrun and decimated, but determined to fight no matter what it cost him.

Beside the Frenchman stood Carter, erratic and sometimes painfully naïve, gifted with extraordinary talents that had saved them from disaster on more than one occasion.

Hogan's right hand gripped Kinch's sturdy shoulder, strong and dependable like the man who did his duty without fanfare or complaint.

On Kinch's right was Newkirk, his abilities put to use to aid king and country instead of violating their laws, hotheadedly loyal and patriotic.

And in the center of the group was the man whose schemes had seemed unusual, bizarre, offbeat, and sometimes downright impossible, but he always managed to pull them off.

The man who was responsible for holding together a team of men who were as different from one another as could possibly be, but had become closer than blood brothers.

Colonel Hogan.

Hogan's Heroes.

The front gates swung open.

* * *

_I'd like to dedicate this story to 'Saturday' and the other men of Room 900, MI9, who conceived and carried out the idea of a camp for Allied soldiers behind enemy lines, supplied by the Resistance and in contact with London, one of which housed over 150 men and remained undetected by Axis forces._


	22. Epilogue: Hogan's Final Revenge

_Warning: if you're not a sucker for a happy ending, or at least a semi-happy ending, you may wish to forego reading the epilogue. You're welcome to believe that no one lived happily ever after if you wish._

_Disclaimer: besides the fact that I don't own any of the Heroes, the events of this chapter are inspired by a line from Season 2, Episode 25: The Top Secret Top Coat. Any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author._

* * *

**_Occupied Germany, the American sector, 1945_**

The general's heels clicked smartly along the hall as he returned salute after salute from passers-by. There were lieutenants, captains, two slightly sleepy corporals, and an unshaven sergeant who received a scowling reminder of his conduct the previous evening, but the general was looking for a certain colonel.

The trouble was, no one could ever be certain exactly where they would find that colonel.

He was in great demand among the upper echelons of the Occupying forces as a guide, string puller, and black market QMG. Word around the base was that it didn't matter what you wanted to know, who you wanted to meet, or what you wanted to look for, Col. R.E Hogan could produce it from his vast storehouse of knowledge, contacts, and impudence. You just couldn't ask for details, for fear that he would tell you the truth.

They'd had their differences during the war, when the general had been shot down over Nazi Germany, but toward the end of his captivity he had developed an immense respect for the man who had seemingly done the impossible over and over again.

A faint smile relaxed the general's features as he saw a tall figure in full dress uniform striding confidently toward him. "Colonel Hogan!"

"General Barton. What brings you here, sir?"

"Looking for you." Barton's salute was definitely better military form than Hogan's. He wasn't expecting the deflated look that crossed the colonel's face.

"If it's another mission finding cases of 1936 red wine from some obscure vineyard in the back of nowhere for some stuffed-shirt general who doesn't have the sense—sorry sir, didn't mean you specifically. But if I'd known I'd be stuck with a couple officers more concerned with what's on their dinner table than what's on their desk I'd never have stayed in the military after my furlough."

Barton looked him up and down. "It's okay, Colonel. No red wine. Why the dress uniform?"

"Because I'm on my way to get married. The paperwork finally came through for her to come back to the States with me."

It wasn't the answer the general wanted. "Then the rumors weren't just wild tales. Isn't it enough that she helped keep our boys prisoner during the war? A girl like that—"

"Hold it!" Hogan gave him the most disapproving look he had ever received from anyone in the military, superiors included, and Barton was shocked into silence, both by the colonel's words and the tone he had used. "A girl like what? A girl who lost her whole family to the Nazis? A girl who stayed in Germany to look for them—and helped our operation at the risk of blowing her own cover? Who understands the effects of this war that I have to live with, because she has her own memories to deal with as well? A girl like that, is that what you mean?"

"I'm sorry, Hogan." And he genuinely meant it. "As for the fraternization regulations, well, you never did give a hoot about them, did you? Did you know about her all along?"

The colonel crossed his arms. "Do you think I'd have let Klink hire a secretary without running a check on her?"

"Klink." Barton recalled his mission. "That's why I came looking for you. He's come up for trial for war crimes."

With the change of subject, Hogan relaxed into a chuckle. "Couldn't happen to a nicer guy . . . except maybe Hochstetter or Burkhalter."

"It's not quite that simple. Headquarters needs him to be found not guilty."

"What!"

"You and your men were involved in a great many highly classified operations," Barton explained with more patience than he usually accorded to audacious, smart-mouthed colonels. "Yes, the war is over, but that doesn't mean the losers are happy about it. Already there have been attempts against some of our more publically known heroes."

"Klink doesn't have the guts for something like that." Hogan waved his hand dismissively.

"No, but he has a big mouth, and everyone on both sides knows that. If he gets locked up with all the other war criminals, something's going to spill out. Unfortunately the trial's already in progress, and Justice Willard won't stop it just because London and Washington want to keep their activities private. We don't want to give the German people the idea that we're trying to conceal anything, either. Everyone's agreed that the simplest way is to use your eyewitness testimony to have Klink acquitted. Say whatever you need to about him, just don't give names or mission details, and whatever you do don't give names of underground people."

"Thanks a lot. I wasn't asked to vote, you know," Hogan grumbled. "Oh well, I've done it so often that I should be used to it by now. When?"

"Right now. Transport's waiting."

The colonel stared at him. "You're kidding me! Didn't you just hear me say I'm on my way to get married? Do you know how hard it is to find someone to perform one of these ceremonies?"

Barton sighed. "I'm sorry, Hogan. I'll see if I can pull some strings and have Justice Willard marry you the moment the trial ends, but we need you in that courtroom pronto. If it makes you feel any better, you're not going to be the only one testifying."

"Oh yeah? Who else you got? I don't think General Burkhalter will feel like taking the stand."

"An RAF corporal, a short Frenchman, and two Americans who are being flown back to Germany on the first available plane. They should be landing any moment." It was the general's one ace in his hand, and he hoped it took the trick.

"All the men? They're coming back here?" A grin split Hogan's face for an instant. "Boy, I can't wait to see them again! They—how'm I going to tell Hilda?" He broke off as shoes approached from the hall behind him and turned to see his fiancee. "You explain to her, General. I have a phone call I need to make."

"We need to leave immediately," Barton insisted, but Hogan's expression had brightened into his mischief-look, and he didn't show any sign of having heard. He delivered a swift kiss to Hilda's cheek and was striding down the hall before anyone could stop him.

* * *

When General Barton entered Justice Willard's courtroom, he found five men enjoying an enthusiastic reunion.

"General, thanks for bringing the guys over," Hogan grinned. "Kinch, you look great in captain's bars!"

"Shucks, Colonel," Kinch grinned sheepishly. "It takes a bit of getting used to. I even went to salute a departing first lieutenant before realizing it was Carter here."

The gangly, boyish pyrotechnics expert blushed, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the clerk's call for attention.

Once again Klink was marched in with his head down, taking no notice of the spectators in the courtroom.

"I see that the witnesses are present and accounted for," the judge observed. "The court will hear testimony from Colonel Robert Hogan."

Klink's head snapped up and he glared across the courtroom. "What are you doing here, Hogan? Have you come to gloat?" he demanded. The judge rapped his gavel.

"No I haven't, I've come to save your neck," Hogan retorted, taking the chair that the judge waved him to. He was directly across from Klink. "Why? I can't tell you, because I don't know."

After Hogan had been sworn as a witness, the judge peered at him. "You were senior P.O.W officer in Stalag 13?"

"Yes, sir, I was," Hogan acknowledged. "With me are four of my men, and they can verify everything I say."

"Yes, yes, we'll get to them," the judge nodded. "Now, what can you tell us about the activities of the defendant?" Evidently Barton's string-pulling had been effective enough that Justice Willard himself wanted to question the witnesses.

"Well sir, I can honestly say that without this man the Allies may not have won the war," Hogan began. Klink winced. "Sir, he made it possible for us to run an extremely effective escape organization, helping to outfit prisoners and send them out of Germany and back to their units."

"B-b-but . . ." Klink stuttered. Kinch smirked from the back of the courtroom, and LeBeau nudged him to silence.

"Is that so? Counsel will please refrain from comment," the judge added as the prosecutor opened his mouth.

"Many of the operations we were involved in are classified, but I can tell you that Klink looked the other way on numerous occasions, enabling us to conduct sabotage activities from within Stalag 13," Hogan continued blithely. "Bridges were mined, military establishments attacked and destroyed, and countless Nazi operations were interrupted because this man—" he pointed to the cowering ex-commandant, "This man allowed us to operate a secret radio to broadcast information to London."

"Hogan . . ." Klink tried to interrupt.

"I understand, Colonel Klink. You're so used to denying your activities to your superiors that it's hard for you to come into the open now," Fake sympathy was thick in Hogan's voice. "To tell the whole truth, Your Honor, the tunnel system beneath the grounds of the prison camp was so extensive that it baffled engineers."

"Heck, you could lose a gopher down there and not find him for a week," Carter piped up from his seat. The judge whapped his gavel again, but hid his smile.

"We operated a press to print German money, stored weapons, ammunition and explosives in the tunnel, and operated several entrances and exits to the system which remained undetected throughout the war, thanks to Colonel Klink's expert display of bumbling inefficiency," Hogan concluded.

"Don't exaggerate so much or they'll never believe it," Klink hissed, unable to grasp the fact that the account was truthful.

"Your Honor, may I show you a couple of photographs?" Hogan reached into his jacket. The judge waved him over. "I ask you, do these look like Klink was a hostile Kommandant?"

Willard looked down his nose at the first photograph that Hogan laid in front of him. It was one that Hogan had filched from Klink's desk early in his time as a prisoner, posed for at a time when Klink thought that the Allies were about to liberate the camp. Wearing each other's uniform caps and friendly smiles, the two colonels inspected each other's men, who were standing in rows in front of the kommandant's office.

"Dear me," the judge said mildly.

"This one is of our tunnel, sir. That's Sgt. Carter—later Lt. Carter, who happens to be here today—holding the package of dynamite."

"Most extraordinary." The judge eyed Klink's huddled form. "If what this man says is true, Colonel Klink, you were a busy man during the war. How did you escape detection by your own side?"

"That would be in part due to his acting ability, sir," Hogan butted in, returning the photos to his pocket. "He plays the cringing bootlicker to perfection."

"Thank you, Hogan," Klink said sarcastically.

"Thank you, Colonel," Willard echoed. "The court will hear testimony from Corporal Peter Newkirk of the Royal Air Force."

After a confirming nod from Hogan, each of the four took the stand to affirm that Wilhelm Klink had been quite out of the common way as a prison camp commander, although LeBeau reminded everyone that his mushrooms had been confiscated and Klink had once insulted his cooking abilities.

Finally the judge heaved a sigh and asked if there was anything they would like to add to their testimony.

"There's one other thing I'd like to say, Your Honor," Hogan smiled. "You've agreed to perform a wedding ceremony, I believe? I wonder if it would be possible for Colonel Klink to attend. After all, he knows the bride."

"I do?" Klink asked.

"Of course you do," Hogan assured. "And Your Honor, Colonel Klink's fiancée is also present at the base, and we were hoping that you would consent to performing a double wedding. I know that you would make Klink a very happy man."

"Wha-at?" Klink wailed.

"Oh, very well! Let's just get this all over and done with!" The judge was evidently wearying of the whole affair. "Colonel Wilhelm Klink, based on the testimony of Colonel Hogan and his men, who all happen to hold very exalted positions in the opinions of several very influential persons, you are hereby found innocent of war crimes and released."

"After his wedding, sir," Hogan added in a stage whisper.

The judge frowned at him. "Yes, yes, after the wedding. Counsel, you are dismissed. Release the prisoner. Bring in the wedding party."

Amid the activity in the courtroom, Klink made his way over to Hogan, who was still standing at the front of the room. "Hogan, I don't know how you came up with that tale about Stalag 13, but I do think you should have told that judge something that wouldn't be so easy to disprove!"

"How do you know it's not the truth?" Hogan retorted. The door opened to admit two women, one dressed in an elegant cream outfit and the other in a dark brown tweed suit. "I believe your bride is here."

"B-b-but that's . . ." Klink groped at a nonexistent pocket.

Hogan reached into his own pocket and pulled out a monocle. Klink took it thankfully. "Now there's the Colonel Klink we all know and love," Hogan quipped.

"Hogan, that's Gertrude Linkmeyer!" the ex-kommandant hissed, halfway between horror and despair.

"Mm-hmm," Hogan shrugged. "Come and stand over here. I think that the brides are nearly ready to walk down the aisle."

"How you must hate me, Hogan," Klink whimpered as music started from a phonograph in the corner. Kinch prepared to lead Hilda toward the front of the room, while LeBeau gallantly offered his arm to Frau Linkmeyer.

The music stuttered, and Carter hurried to adjust the phonograph needle. "Hey, maybe we should use the ol' coffeepot. It might work better than this."

"Coffeepot?" Klink whispered.

"Yeah, didn't you know? A coffeepot makes a very effective listening device and speaker," Hogan muttered out the corner of his mouth as the judge took up a position between the two of them. Klink merely shook his head in disbelief.

The wedding ceremony was brief and to the point. Newkirk and Carter stood as witnesses for the two couples, and the judge read out the vows with the resigned air of a man who was overdue for his midday meal. Afterward, the new Colonel and Mrs. Hogan enjoyed a long kiss while Klink scrunched up his courage and his face and delivered a brief peck to his bride's cheek.

The judge vanished from the courtroom as soon as his duties were performed, leaving the newlyweds to the congratulations of the few guests. General Barton pulled Hogan to the side of the group.

"Hogan, when did you come up with this scheme of Klink's wedding?" he asked.

"Yesterday, standing in the base hallway."

"Then you weren't planning it all along? How did you manage to convince, eh, Mrs. Klink? And how did you get the paperwork arranged?"

Hogan chuckled. "Sounds funny to hear her called that, after all the times I prevented it while I was a prisoner. I don't understand it, sir, but she actually wanted to marry the man. Her brother had been plotting the match for a long time, and he had everything prepared. I was relieved to hear that he'd left all his important papers with her when he surrendered to the Allied army."

The general shook his head sadly. "And Klink?"

"Let's put it this way," Hogan shrugged. "I didn't want to see him hang, but I didn't exactly think he should live out his life in total ease and comfort either."

"You amaze me, Colonel," Barton admitted. And for the second time in his life he drew himself up at attention and offered a salute to an officer ranked lower than himself.

Hogan returned it crisply.

"Hogan? Colonel Hogan!" Klink's whine approached from behind him, and he automatically raked his fingers through his dark hair to allow it to display to full advantage. It was a habit he'd gotten into early in his captivity when he realized how sensitive Klink was about his own bald dome.

"Hogan, don't you owe me something?" Klink cast a furtive glance over his shoulder.

"What's that, a punch in the mouth?"

"No! My violin. You promised you'd return it to me."

"And I have every intention of doing so." Hogan snapped his fingers in Newkirk's direction, and the Englishman disappeared from the room, returning after a few moments with an alligator-skin case. "Here you go, sir, a wedding gift for you. I trust that it will bring many happy moments to your new life together."

Klink sent him the familiar look of despairing disgust that had characterized the last several years. "Thank you, Hogan. Thank you very much."


End file.
